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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225463">I'll Be Here, Waiting and Wanting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asorenii/pseuds/Asorenii'>Asorenii</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), The Witcher (TV) RPF, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Drowning, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geraskier Fun Day (The Witcher), Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by The Witcher, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Nobody stays dead, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Roach Ships It (The Witcher), Stabbing, Suicide Attempt, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Temporary Character Death, The Witcher Lore, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Unrequited Love, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), unbetad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:07:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asorenii/pseuds/Asorenii</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the mountain scene, Jaskier spirals into a pit of misery and self-loathing. Twenty-two years trailing behind your best friend is a long time to throw away, especially when you believe your time on Earth is destined to be much shorter than his. </p><p>Jaskier enters a fatal state of depression and no longer tries to stop harm from befalling him, but he just won't die.</p><p>||Nobody stays dead!||</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Witcher - Various Alternate Universes</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. You've Left Me a Brokenhearted Fool, Darling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This contains hella suicidal ideology and multiple attempts. If this will trigger you, I highly suggest you don't read. There is light at the end of the tunnel for everyone. You do not deserve to die.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>"I'm making my rounds, on ev'ry side of town, that I've been through, that I know; To find my reason to come back home."</em><br/>
<br/>
<em><br/>
</em>"Right, well then, see you around Geralt." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier hadn't looked back when he picked up his lute, his coin pouch that was pathetically empty, but he had spared one last glance off the cliffside, out towards the West. Out towards the coast. <br/>
<br/>
Twenty-two years, down the drain. Twenty-two years discarded like a rotten piece of fruit, full of worms and flies. Jaskier's eyes burnt with every step he took down the mountain, more painful than the blisters on his feet or the burn from the sun across the back of his neck. His chest felt full of cotton, a deep, twisting pain curled up comfortably in his gut, Geralt's words echoing around his head, twisting around every lyrical praise he'd sung of the man. He brought his sleeve to wipe at his eyes. Geralt had had his heart broken by the witch, by Yennefer, the woman Jaskier had never quite been fond of. Where did he think it would lead them, letting Geralt follow her like an imprinted duckling all the way up the mountain without care towards anyone else. <br/>
<br/>
He stopped about three hours down, the soft trickle of the river cutting through the quiet of the night. He could faintly hear voices- probably the rest of the party heading home. Or maybe it was his imagination, with no torches glinting through the trees or footsteps to be heard. He used a stick to poke at his fire, the wood he'd gathered crackling comfortably as the flame ate through the tinder and dry leaves at the top. <br/>
<br/>
He found himself feeling emptied, almost numb. He'd accepted the situation, the words no matter how cruel and vile they seemed. Geralt had meant every word, spittle from the encounter still dry against his cheek. Geralt wasn't a man of many words, and whenever he spoke in full, true sentences, Jaskier had learnt it meant that it was genuine. His stomach gave a nauseating roll at the thought. He pushed himself to the side, heaving for a moment before bile passed through his lips and wetly onto the dirt below. Tears joined soon after, and he found himself sobbing to nothing, his heart laying in the pit of the disgusting pool of sadness deep in his core. He'd always thought of himself as a strong man, with a love that has never faltered in the past, not a petty argument could shake his affections; so he'd thought. Geralt had weaselled his way into Jaskier's heart, holding the entirety of it in a single palm. Just as easily as he'd taken it from Jaskier, he'd thrown it away, spat on it and might as well have shat on it too. <br/>
<br/>
The night was uncomfortable, with no energy left to stoke and tend to the fire, Jaskier curled in on himself, freezing and barely sleeping the long hours of darkness, and when the birds started to chirp vibrantly, Jaskier dragged himself out of the dirt when dawn's light first blinded him. And so he travelled down the mountain, doublet dirtied and rank, eyes hollowed out and dull. He didn't run into a single animal the rest of his descent, nor did he stumble back upon their camps. He made it to the base, to the beaten dirt road and he didn't see a single hoof print nor boot print on the mud surrounding the wide pool of the river. <br/>
<br/>
------------------------------<br/>
<br/>
The weeks that followed were some of the worst of his life, he reckoned. He'd found a tavern in a small, practically unnamed town, and the keep was nearly red in the face when he agreed to let Jaskier attempt to earn a night's stay and a decent meal by playing. His reputation proceeded him, and in an ironic twist of fate, the only songs that got anyone riled up were about his Witcher. So he played. He played until his fingertips grew red and swollen, until the balls of his feet sent aches up to his knees. He played about that damned Witcher until the audience had dried their pockets of coin and their plates of bread and cheese. He collected his makings, successfully got the key to a room, and again cried himself to sleep that night in a musty, sour-scented bed, without the warmth of comforting stare of his Witcher. <br/>
<br/>
Once more did the morning break an awful sleep, and Jaskier laid in bed, eyes unfocused, staring up at the cracked and damaged ceiling. He'd almost made peace with himself, back on the mountain. As he travelled down, the thought of perhaps just sitting down and waiting had crossed his mind. Waiting, like a loyal dog for its master to return. Waiting, as he starved, dying every so slowly, for a master that abandoned him to come back. <br/>
<br/>
'<em>Pitiful</em>', he mused, dragging himself off of the bed. Five days without a bath left him grimier and more rancid than he would've liked, but he needed his coin for stays at inns, or for medicine. As goes with losing the breadwinner. The thought stopped him, bringing a tired smile. Breadwinner, Geralt? Jaskier was the one bringing home stale loaves from nights of playing. The thought quickly turned sour, the image of Geralt's dismissive scowl, telling Jaskier to shut up, or to be useful pounding behind his eyes once more. He needed a drink. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier stayed in the inn, again promising a night of flavourful music and happy audience aplenty for the promise of food. He wasn' planning on sleeping there a day longer, the possibility of Geralt making a pit stop here was far too great for him to risk confrontation. So he sat on the stage, plucking his lute until noon, receiving a warm bowl of watered-down stew as compensation until dinner. The tavern grew rowdier and rowdier and the day pressed on- a few scarred faces of strongmen, suspiciously armed men, and a few whores peeping through the tired faces of the stayers from the night before. </p><p>As promised, Jaskier had delivered a wonderful night, the building must have been shaking the earth below it from the pounding of the feet and the air buzzed with excitement as the audience clapped along to Fishmongerer's Daughter. Jaskier's face was red and tight, a smile pulling so roughly at his lips he felt them grow raw and tasted the hint of copper from the cracked skin. During his finale, he let out a whoop, fist flying up a flourish so quickly he nearly stumbled off the stage after losing his balance. Quickly, he gathered up again the small amount of coin he'd made, and ate the plate of potatoes and bird presented to him. He was just finishing up when the whisper of 'Witcher' caught his ears. He didn't turn around, but the conversation a few feet away from him was clear. <br/>
<br/>
<em>"Heard the bard travels with that Butcher."<br/>
</em><em>"Aye, you see him act like a fool up there? Brings in more than we get weekly." </em><br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's stomach rolled and he quickly pushed the rest of his food down his gullet. He thanked the woman passing him quickly and slung his lute over his shoulder. Definitely thugs, by the sound of it. He had to go. His footsteps were very quickly matched and a pit of dread sank in his gut. The second he was out the door, he got grabbed by the collar and thrown roughly into the small alcove between the tavern and the wall of the stables, and pressed up to the wooden wall behind him. <br/>
<br/>
"Hello there you absolutely fine gentlemen!" He said quickly, eyes widened as he felt the cool press of a dagger to his side. "Now, I heard you lovely fellows talking about Geralt, and well, sadly, he <em>isn't here-</em>"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up!" One of the men spat, his breath choking Jaskier as rotten fish and piss filled his nose. "We want the coin. Give it up, you get to go scurry off back to your fuckin' Butcher." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's mouth never seemed to act according to the situation. "Well you see here, <em>mister</em>, that Witcher isn't a Butcher, nor is he a monster! He's-" His words were cut short as that cold press turned white-hot. Jaskier's body tensed as the man slid the dagger between his ribs, and he buckled against the wall. Hands fell to his waist and his coin pouch was pinched from him, and the dagger left much more roughly than it had entered. Jaskier gave a pained whimper as he fell against the wall, knees hitting the ground at an angle as the men took off in a hurry. <br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, Geralt's vocabulary taste became clear as day. "Fuck-" Jaskier's hands pressed to his side, the heat and wet squelch against his doublet only proving the severity of the cut. He had half a mind to try calling out for the very Witcher he'd just defended. That thought was quickly overtaken by another. If he died, Geralt wouldn't know. He'd probably never find out. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's hands slowly released their firm press on his side. Geralt would assume he'd gotten lost up on the mountain, or maybe gotten lost on the way back. Coming all the way up here had taken him far from his home, and through too many forests. The oaf would probably scoff and assume his stupid bard had finally gotten lost enough to get himself killed. <br/>
<br/>
His lips trembled as he slowly pat down his boot. Red stained the leather as one hand dug into it, pulling out the dagger Geralt had given him for 'protection'. The handle was hard to hold properly with blood-wet hands, but with both of them, Jaskier could steady it. White spots were already dancing around his vision, and he could hear the muffled voices from inside the tavern. On the side next to the stables, in the little alcove he was in, nobody would see him for days, probably. They'd only start to smell his corpse after a week or two. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's hands brought the dagger down to his stomach, the blade's tip sharp against his body even through the layer of doublet and shirt. Geralt wouldn't know. <em>He wouldn't care. </em>Blade met skin, which met innards and Jaskier was gasping sharply as the hilt met flesh. He pulled the dagger out and threw it haphazardly to his side, allowing himself to slump the opposite way. The white spots doubled and a headache turned to a painful throb. It was so stupid, but he couldn't take it back. Geralt would most likely find out, and the only comforting thought Jaskier had before his eyes slid shut was that Geralt would finally be free of his burden bardling.  <br/>
<br/>
----------------------<br/>
<br/>
Opening his eyes was a surprise. Feeling the painful throb of a headache was too. Jaskier gave a broken groan as he blinked slowly, blurry images of dusk slowly clarifying. He glanced towards his stomach- a broken doublet, but no wound. Blood was still everywhere, and as he moved his hands, the dried blood flaked and fell away. He felt a roll of nausea hit him again and he retched to the side, spitting until the bitter taste of half-disgested meat and bile left his tongue. <br/>
<br/>
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, a hand going to press against his side. Again, no wound, just torn fabric. He double-checked that his dagger was still there, abandoned to his side. As it lay there, crusted brown blood on the hilt, Jaskier let his head fall. Of course. Even Geralt's last wish was somehow still unsuccessful. <br/>
<br/>
If life could grant Jaskier one wish now, he'd probably ask for Geralt's to come true. <br/>
<br/>
----------------------<br/>
<br/>
The wretched scream of a kikimora filled Jaskier's ears as he lay in the middle of a clearing. His arms had been slit, the blood seeping into the ground as it oozed from the wounds. His eyes only widened slightly as the face of the beast hovered over his. The jaws of the beast clamped around his chest and he felt the blade-like teeth cut and snap through his bones like butter. He found himself screaming, feebly beating on the beasts' maw until his head spun and body went limp. He only faintly felt the rest of his bones snapping as he collided with a tree after being thrown from its mouth. <br/>
<br/>
Again, he woke up in tattered shreds of what used to be clothing, no scarring, no wounds, but a massive headache as well as dried blood covering him, head-to-toe. He gave a shout of anger and brought his fists to the ground, pounding at the soft earth until his knuckles bled and hands ached. He stayed crouched onto himself for what seemed like hours before standing up and dragging himself to the closest river, and slowly repairing his clothes. <br/>
<br/>
------------------<br/>
<br/>
Drowning didn't seem to work either. The burn of water rushing into his lungs felt foreign and he fought it with every ounce of energy he had, but the boulder he'd tied to himself worked properly and refused to let him budge. His eyes bulged as he let out a silent scream, bubbles racing up towards the surface of the lake just as he desperately wanted to. The heaviness of his limbs caught up with him, and he felt his head loll back. The last bit of air left his lungs and his eyes slid shut, blocking out the sparkling of the midday sun as it tore through the clear waters. <br/>
<br/>
It was hard to get out, and he drowned himself once more while trying to undo the handiwork of his knots. Finally, he woke up for the third time and was able to squeeze his way out of the rope's hold and propel himself to the surface. He broke with a gasp and dragged himself up onto shore before flopping onto his back. Nothing was working. Nothing felt real. He turned to the side to vomit out a great deal of water, clutching the mud helplessly. He couldn't fight this, he couldn't handle it. He had never wished to die so badly before in his life. The pain was no longer caused by Geralt, or by himself, but of everything pressing down onto him. He could've done more. If he wasn't dying now, what's to say he wouldn't have died helping Geralt? He could've been more useful, less of a burden. He could've gone on more hunts, been more willing to use himself as bait just so Geralt would finally appreciate him. <br/>
<br/>
The thought pierced his soul more painfully than anything else. If this curse of life was nothing new, Jaskier could've changed everything. He could've been better. He wouldn't have played up his theatrics, or moaned about calloused fingers. He would've let Geralt ride for days on end, not threatening themselves by pleading to rest near a known bandit path. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier laid, chilled against the mud as every possibility for change played in his head. He let himself cry until no more tears fell, and hiccuped so often he felt like he was choking. <br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I Wish I'd've Run Out Of Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt hasn't seen nor heard of his bard after he ran down the mountain, but every place he visits, it reeks of the sour scent of death. Nobody can confirm of Jaskier's whereabouts, but rumours only grow.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the length being cut short- trying to get this out before I lose my spark. The comments on the last chapter nearly made me cry- all of you are so incredibly sweet! But alas, these two will be whumped until they can no longer be whumped. So stay tuned ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first night after Jaskier left was cold, more lonesome than Geralt could've imagined. He could almost taste the sadness rolling off of the bard like running water when he lashed out, and his pride kept his tongue firmly planted to the roof of his mouth as Jaskier took his things and left. His chest gave an awful pang when Jaskier didn't even hesitate to disappear behind the treeline. A selfish part of him hoped, prayed, that the stupidly loyal bard would've put up with his words, no matter how awful of a truth they seemed to spin. <br/><br/>He didn't. Jaskier had left without a second glance and he left Geralt frozen, dumbly standing in the same spot for at least an hour, amber eyes staring at the break between the brush where Jaskier had slipped through. After the ache of sun-burnt skin reached his mind, Geralt swat his shoulders, breaking the trance he'd been in. Of course, he always drove people away- clearly, Destiny or Fate- whichever one of them was the cause of his agony, seemed to be having the absolute time of their lives. <br/><br/>He'd made a fire, two rabbits rolling on a spit. He'd caught them both and dispatched them before realising he was only hunting for one now. Roach couldn't eat the other, so Geralt mindfully tore the second into bits and pieces, creating a jerky after the meat had finished cooking. He felt numb, only eating with the goad of Jaskier's voice in his head. The bard was a mother hen most days, tending to Geralt in ways he'd become accustomed to forgoing. <br/><br/>Another pitfall opened in his chest as he tore mindlessly at the meat in his hands. His scars had greatly decreased ever since Jaskier began to grace him on hunts. Careful hands suturing larger wounds, wrapping them with care and precision. A hand fell to his thigh a gnarled red scar lashed across the meat of it. Jaskier had done the fixing of that, the sloppy stitching saving Geralt's life in the process. A pathetic whine left his throat and he dropped the rest of his meal, tangling his hands into his hair and pulling. He'd been so stupid. He needed that damned bard. Needed him more than his pride would ever allow him to admit. <br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>The next day he'd been able to get further down the mountain, however, Roach must have stepped on some poor rock or burr and had begun to limp just as the sun hit its highest point. He made a point of slowing down, but the mare was clearly uncomfortable. They stopped at the edge of a lake, the mud much softer on her hooves. <br/><br/>Checking all four, Geralt found that yes, she had stepped on a rock and it had lodged itself into the metal shoe. After twenty or so minutes of careful prying, the small chunk of rock fell out and into the mud, and a soft ooze of blood trickled right after. "Fuck." Geralt's hands pressed against the shoe gently, Roach huffing above him. "I know girl-" He murmured, taking a strip of cloth from his pack to keep the shoe in place. "We'll fix this up when we find a smither." Another huff. "I'm sure you'd appreciate a treat right now, but your supplier doesn't do business with me anymore." <br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>The day passed as Geralt paced about, allowing Roach to rest and heal. The mare no longer favoured her leg, but Geralt was in no hurry to leave the mountain. Jaskier may well still be behind them, at this point. He was never the fastest of trailing them, nor was he ever equipped for such a trek. The unpleasant thought of Jaskier getting injured plagued Geralt's mind until sundown, when Roach began to settle down herself. <br/><br/>Geralt made another small fire, too lazy to use flint and instead lit it with his hands placed onto the tinder. The bounce of magic hit his face with a flash of heat and he sat back, blinking the burn out of his eyes. He wasn't tired, but he couldn't find it in himself to take out his bedroll and meditate. His head was still racing, all thoughts of known and unknown monsters tying in with the deep-set fear of harm coming to his bard. <em>His bard. </em>Jaskier was never his to begin with, the annoying prick had forced his presence onto Geralt until he began to grow fond of the other. The second realisation hit him harder than the first. Witchers weren't supposed to feel, weren't supposed to form any meaningful attachments. Especially not to humans. <br/><br/>Twenty-two years, Geralt mused, his lips falling into a thin frown. Twenty-two years of broken companionship he'd just stomped out like a dying fire. Jaskier would live to regret his choice, clearly. Either that or die a bitter man. Geralt shook his head and threw a log onto the fire. Jaskier was never a man made out to hate, at most, Geralt would have to fight the other, beg him for some sour feelings to even get told off. <br/><br/><em>"I'm not scared of you, Geralt." </em><br/><em>"You're no monster- you're a man. You're more human than most, you know." </em><br/><em>"You're not a Butcher, never was. You're the White Wolf." </em><br/><em>"It's only one night protecting your very best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be?" </em><br/><br/>"Fuck." Geralt raked his hands down the side of his face, pinching the bridge of his nose tight enough to hear the cartilage move uncomfortably. Never a friend, never anything more is what he'd wanted. Somehow he'd ended up with a loyal companion who somehow never sung ill of Geralt's past, nor of his shortcomings. Jaskier was something of a miracle. A smile and edge to him that never dimmed. Not until Geralt made sure he'd stomped any and all hope out of the bastard. <br/><br/>Geralt had never felt ill in his life but the roll of his stomach and prickle of pain was enough to make him gag. He'd destroyed the bard's heart, up on the open head of the mountain. The palpable sadness of Jaskier clung to him like the spray of a skunk, and no matter what he'd do, he would never be able to wash away that guilt. <br/><br/>-------------<br/><br/>When he and Roach finally made it down to the foot of the mountain after another three day's travel, he was more sore and tired than he'd planned. The mare made a fuss with every hour's worth of walking and she'd bled through the makeshift bandage more times than Geralt could count. That left him five days worth of travel without proper rest, or food. It was another half day's walk until he found a tavern, bustling with life even as the sun began to sink below the line of trees. <br/><br/>The keep eyed him suspiciously, though an offhand comment on 'yer bard' made Geralt perk up. Jaskier had made it down the mountain? Before him? He sunk back down in his seat- of course he had. Jaskier wasn't weighed down by a pissy and injured horse. "Where is he?" Geralt asked before the keep turned back to his bar. The man scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. "Hell should I know! Got chased out by a bunch o' ruffians. Didn't come back in for the night, I reckon he ran with what he got." <br/><br/>The admittance sat uneasily with Geralt for the rest of the night. He didn't want to spend the night, but the keep had insisted that his stableboy was better than any smith Geralt would find on his way back. So, he'd untied Roach from her post outside the tavern and began to lead her towards the stable. An awful smell hit him halfway there, worse than a rotten horse or their patties. Blood. <br/><br/>Specifically, the lingering scent of pine and musk, the undertone of sweet, sweet chamomile. Geralt dropped the reins and followed to the smell to the back-alley crack between the tavern and stable. His stomach must've twisted in six different directions when he spotted the scene. Blood and vomit pooled on the dirt, crusted over into a large clump. Geralt dropped to his knees, eyes fixated on the scene until a glint further in front of him caught his eyes. The dagger. A punched cry left his lips as he leant to grab it, the blade covered in Jaskier's blood up to the hilt. He knew the bard was resilient, but this? This wound was no barfight brawl. His head spun as he held the blood-covered blade. This was used to try and kill Jaskier. To kill his bard. <br/><br/>Standing back up, Geralt pocketed the knife and furiously brought Roach to the stableboy. He set his coin pouch on the ground with a scowl. "However long I'm gone, you don't touch her unless she's sick or injured. Keep the goddamn doors shut unless I come back for her." Once he was sure the boy was scared shitless enough to follow his instructions, Geralt turned back towards the path. No blood outside of the alcove, no visible footprints. He knelt down and took in a deep breath. The faint smell of chamomile was enough to spur him forwards. <br/><br/>He was going to find his damned bard, even if it killed him.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Will I Be Worth Finding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier can't tell how long it's been, or how much he cares. The one thing he wanted had been stripped from him, and now he can hardly find it in himself to curse out the universe for condemning him to live through the heartbreak.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As you may notice, every chapter switches POV! This one is Jaskier's, but I am going to include some of Geralt's. I found that I can add much more to the plot by mashing chapters up. I'm doing my best to update as often as I can, and again, every comment I receive I do read, and the praise on my writing makes me smile so hard. You're all so incredibly sweet :,)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The mud on his body had crusted and dried after he'd struggled up and out of the lake. Laying there, with barely enough sun to warm his skin, he waited. Tears no longer flowed freely, and his lungs burnt from a mixture of sobbing until he dry-heaved and the heavy swell of water still clogging his body. His head felt full of lead and his limbs didn't feel attached. <br/><br/>Slowly, he pushed himself off the ground, hacking up a good deal of water before moving to stand. He swayed only slightly as he staggered back towards the tree he'd placed his things at. His notebook was full of scrawled messages, pleas of help or hate, most directed at whatever God decided to toy with him, or whichever path of Fate he'd managed to anger enough for this hellish punishment. He rarely cleaned himself up anymore, aside from wading through rivers as he travelled aimlessly. He'd lost his doublet a while back- the tattered shreds too jagged for even his nimble fingers to stitch back together. His chemise was a patchwork of cotton, silk, and patches he'd taken from his pants. He hadn't run into anyone to ask for food or coin from, so he stood, a weak man, nothing more than skin, bones, and a resonating aura of sadness. <br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>Jaskier found himself wandering back the way he came, passing a field of tulips he'd found hours before. Truly, a more calming sight than most. Butterflies and bees danced around the field's opening, and he allowed himself to wander into the flowers, fingertips dragging along their petals. The sun was warm, a welcome comfort. If he was to stay around, to not be allowed the release of death, perhaps staying in a place so calm as this would do him well. He could lose himself, basking in the floral scents, rising every day out of a field of life. <br/><br/>His stomach curled and gnawed uncomfortably, and he was shaken from his fantasy. He knelt down and tore a yellow tulip from out of the dirt. Peeling away the petals, he murmured to himself. <br/><br/>"Loves me."<br/>"Loves me not." <br/>"Loves me." <br/>"Loves me not." <br/><br/>The last petal fell on 'loves me' and Jaskier snapped the stem in two, chucking the remains of the flower as far as his shoulder would let him. "Bollocks, that is." He whispered. "Love only endures in fairytales. For me? Bah-" He stomped out another flower before sagging and curling up onto himself in the field. "I'm no more deserving of love than a truly dead man." <br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>Following the scent trail left by Jaskier was difficult, and Geralt's body screamed to rest. Taking up more than half the day, Geralt found himself passing areas they'd travelled through on their way to get to the mountain. The forest proved difficult to follow, every scent mixing together, true pine and the fragrant scent of Jaskier's oils melding into one dizzying reminder. The only thing that was a stark difference was the faint scent of copper. Geralt could tell the difference between it and the sharp scent coming from the dagger in his belt. <br/><br/>The hint of copper only grew stronger the deeper he travelled into the forest. What worried him more than that, were the slow appearing claw marks along trees. Broken branches, deer skulls and spines covered in moss or covered with ravens. The giveaway of the beast in the woods was the pungent smell of sewage, the festering of dead animals mixed with swamp grime. A Kikimora. <br/><br/>"Fuck." <br/><br/></p><p>------------<br/><br/>The day slowly began to fade to dusk, the sun above Jaskier setting ever so slowly. He'd grown weaker throughout the day, eyes staring up towards the sky, burning as he refused to blink while watching the colours change from baby blue to an ashen lavender, then to a muted pink and finally brilliant orange. The clouds began to look like dark blotches along the sky, and when the deep azure of night began to show, he sighed and let his eyes slide close. Dying in a field of flowers sounded nice about now. The way his body rejected any movement, and how the growling of his stomach quieted only showed it was about time. His mouth felt full of sand and he hadn't sweat so much as a drop as he basked in the warmth of the sun. <br/><br/>He fought back a whimper as his chest felt constricted, a phantom pressure squeezing his sides together. It felt like his body was experiencing a running cramp, the entirety of it collapsing in on itself. He could only hold his sounds for so long before he gasped and wrapped his hands around himself, face turned into the dirt as his body fought off the dehydration he'd forced it through. <br/><br/>Jaskier gasped painfully, blunt nails drawing red marks down his sides as he clutched them tighter. A heavy headache throbbed behind his eyes and he could only squeeze them shut tighter, curled in the fetal position until he let himself go limp, the pain of his head too great to stay awake through. His eyes slid shut as night fell over the tulip field. <br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>Geralt's body moved against his will. He should've made camp, should've brought more supplies. He needed more potions. The scream of the Kikimora filled the forest as he found himself spinning in circles, the crackling of leaves and twigs in all directions sending him into a scared defence. He only had his steel sword- his silver one still attached to Roach's saddle pack. He cursed lowly and held the sword at an angle as he broke through a line of trees into a slight clearing. <br/><br/>The Kikimora was circling him, he could tell, the wind only holding its scent as it passed his right side. He stood his ground and waiting until the beast emerged on its own. It was a small one, most likely younger than the many he'd fought before. Something struck him as odd, watching the beast circle him, snapping its jaws. He stepped back, drawing it away from the treeline. He needed space to fight. <br/><br/><br/>When the beast finally lunged, Geralt's body moved out of pure muscle memory. Without a potion everything was muted. The attacks seemed slower, but so did his responses. His sword barely struck the beast, and that didn't bode well for him. Surely, his back was caught by the claws and he yelled, swinging his sword around to strike the arm. The blade sunk into the socket and he fought the pressure for a moment longer until the blade severed the arm. There was a shrill cry and the beast stumbled away from him, black blood spurting from the opening and slicking up the grass beneath them. <br/><br/>Geralt lunged forward as the beast's head turned towards him with a shriek and he sunk the blade down its throat, twisting violently until he felt the sword exit. He hissed as the other arm pawed and slashed at him, even weakly. He yanked his sword out and finished the job by angling it up and forcing the steel through the skull of the kikimora. The warbled dying sounds of the monster echoed until it fell silent, and Geralt fully removed himself and his sword from the body. It slumped forward and gurgled. Geralt's panting and ragged breathing breaking the silence. <br/><br/>He finally found what was offputting about the beast. It's bloodstained jaws. The blood was crusted and new- stark red against the black blood of the beast. Without his potions, Geralt's nose could only pick up the distinct hint of copper, indicating human blood. Must've been feeding off of travellers, is what he thought. A damn shame.<br/><br/>He stepped back from the scene and looked around the clearing, passing over it all before having to do a double-take on a certain tree in particular. It was darkened near the middle of the trunk, seven or so feet off the ground. A stain. Geralt slowly walked towards the tree, and away from the festering scent of the Kikimora. The stain was just as new as the blood on the monster and had trickled down the bark before drying. <br/><br/>Slowly lowering his sword, Geralt brought a hand to the bark and pressed his thumb into the stain. It was dry, but the blood still came off around his fingerprint. He brought the finger to his nose and paled. He spun around, looking frantically across the field, and then back to the tree. His heart stopped as his eyes fell upon a lump in the grass. The glint of well-spun silk, covered in gilded silver and a golden design caught his eyes. He'd watched Jaskier purchase the doublet years back, at a stand back in Temeria. The bright colours muted by a heavy wash of blood.<br/><br/><em>"No."</em><br/><br/>"No, no, no-" Geralt's words tumbled out of his mouth as he stumbled in front of a wet lump of fabric, a torn and blood-soaked doublet. The tears in the fabric were accentuated with the dark saliva of the kikimora, and the blood had seeped into the ground area where the fabric lay. Geralt's vision tunnelled and he felt his chest cave onto itself. There was no way Jaskier would've survived the encounter, especially not when his doublet had become so soaked, so torn. <br/><br/>An anguished cry worked its way out of Geralt's throat and he saw red. He picked up his sword and stalked back over to the body of the Kikimora and he swung. He hacked away at its skin and plates until he was covered in its dark blood and even then, he beat at the corpse until he could no longer hold onto his sword. It slipped from his hands and clattered against the hard earth. Geralt took a step back and fell to his knees. His hands hung at his side as he stared at the monster. <br/><br/>Jaskier was dead. He'd been too late. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I See You, I Hear You, I Just Wish It Was True</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier's problems only mount higher when he runs into something that has the potential of ruining what's left of his salvageable life. He can't let Geralt find it first.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What's better than one Jaskier? Two of them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier woke with a heave, eyes flying open and being met with the dark cover of night. He gasped a few times, catching his breath and he worked the headache out of his head, the dull throb lessening with each breath he took. He was no longer in the field of tulips, instead, he was propped up against a tree, looking out over the field from a distance. He looked around for a moment, confused as to how he moved. His answer came when soft footsteps approached behind him, as well as a heavy sigh. <br/><br/>Jaskier craned his head to look behind him, hands coming to his sides to steady him. He froze when he met cornflower blue eyes and dirtied brown hair. "Oh no, no, no, no!" He muttered, clutching a fistful of dirt and chucking it at his double. "I will not go through this! Stop it! Bad- bad doppler!" <br/><br/>The other Jaskier ducked as dirt was thrown at it, and it sighed. "We only wanted to help." Jaskier shivered as he heard his own voice, though relatively monotonous, speak back to him. "We saw your body on the field. Bad place, lots of scavengers." The doppler took a step forward, frowning. "You reeked of magic, though. Not dead, we could tell. So we waited." A flourish of its hands pointed back to Jaskier, then to itself. "And if you didn't wake up, we decided to try and be helpful. We know who you are." <br/><br/>Jaskier gave an indignant scoff. "Well of course you do, that's your whole spiel! Now, as grateful as I am, I would very much rather go back to laying in the field in my own misery than have to deal with you so <em>shoo</em>!" Confused as ever, Jaskier did understand where the doppler was coming from. Clearly, it at least knew of his predicament. What he didn't understand and what it meant when it had said he 'reeked of magic'. He was just a bard. A cursed one, perhaps. <br/><br/>"You won't do it yourself. We're going to do it for you." The doppler's thin smile turned into a frown. "He'll come. The Witcher. You know he will, deep down. We know you feel so." <br/><br/>Jaskier gave a hiccup. "He won't! I just want him to! A selfish, disgraceful part of me wishes he'd come and rescue me but he doesn't care!" Jaskier's voice broke and his face contorted into a pained frown. "You know nothing of my emotions, not enough to fix anything. Geralt won't come. He only comes when he knows it'll benefit him. What good would a burden, shit-shovelling bastard like myself do now?" <br/><br/>The doppler took a step forward, its hands coming up to gently pat Jaskier's shoulders. "We don't know what The Witcher feels. Just what you want to fix." The doppler's hands suddenly wrapped around Jaskier's neck and held him in a chokehold. "Stay here. We'll help." It whispered, Jaskier gasping and struggling to push the body off of him. His mouth hung agape as he choked, hands slowly weakening their hits until his eyes rolled back into his head, body sagging against the doppler. <br/><br/>The other Jaskier slowly dragged the bard's body back to the tree and propped it up once more before securing him to the trunk with twine. "We'll help. Stay put, Bardling." <br/><br/>-----------<br/><br/>Geralt had continued following the soft scent of chamomile, searching the rest of the forest for Jaskier's body. The kikimora didn't have it inside, and Jaskier didn't deserve to decompose without a proper burial. Geralt's hands gripped his sword as he trudged along, eyes cold and set in front of him. It took a good forty minutes for him to come across a more pungent spot of Jaskier's scent, and he found tracks. A cold feeling in his stomach re-emerged. The tracks, the shape of Jaskier's boots, were fresh. No more than two days old. Yet the blood on the tree, and soaking the ground and doublet were too dry to be the same age. <br/><br/>His fingertips brushed the mud below him, and his eyes followed the path of the boot prints. Something wasn't adding up. <br/><br/>-----------<br/><br/>The awkward steps of the doppler retraced where Jaskier remembered going, retracing his tracks. He passed by the lake, and found the path he'd come off of, and saw the ragged path he'd pushed the bolder along. The bard grimaced, and ugly feeling in his gut. The true bard wasn't going to stay asleep for long, it knew, but Jaskier had a gut feeling of The Witcher's return. It would be enough to try and find the White Wolf than to let the bard destroy himself. <br/><br/>-----------<br/><br/>Geralt followed the footprints until he came along a soft stream. The prints ended and reappeared on the other side, and he had yet to find a single trace of blood the entire way. The strong scent of chamomile was still there, though it was much muskier and less sweet. Stale, even. Geralt wrinkled his nose and waded through the stream, eyes alert as he heard a faint crunching. Footsteps. <br/><br/>His sword was immediately raised and he stalked towards the sound, growing ever louder. Jaskier's scent didn't follow, and he knew he was straying off the path the bard must have taken. He let out a low growl, grumbling as the footsteps grew louder and louder. "Who's there?" He hissed, watching a bunch of branches rustle. <br/><br/>His heart stopped when he heard a familiar gasp. <br/><br/>"Geralt?" <br/><br/>Out from behind the brush, two pales hands and a well-worn boot appeared. Geralt's arms dropped as he lowered his sword. His eyes focused as the rest of Jaskier's body appeared from behind the dark plants. "You came." Said the bard, his face melting into a relieved smile. "Oh I was so worried you wouldn't, I've been here for so long! You're not hurt are you?" <br/><br/>Geralt watched dumbly as Jaskier moved forward, hands landing on his arms, easying his sword down. Jaskier's blue eyes met his own and he staggered into the other man, a wash of relief hitting him as he hugged Jaskier closer. He buried his head into the bard's shoulder and was met with a pleased laugh, and arms wrapping around him. Jaskier was-<br/><br/>Not Jaskier. Geralt pressed his head further into the man's neck, inhaling deeply. Oak. Dirt. No oils. He gave a pained grunt and shoved the man away from him, reaching down to pick his sword up and press the tip to the man's abdomen. "Where is he?" He growled out. <br/><br/>Jaskier faltered, his face dropping from jovial to sheepish. "We knew you'd figure it out." It admit, hands slowly trying to press the sword down and away. Geralt replaced the tip with more force and the doppler gave a sharp laugh. "Don't stab us, we know where he is! We're just trying to help him!" Geralt cocked an eyebrow and dug the tip of his sword further into the doppler's stomach as it whimpered. "Your bard is at the field of tulips, against a tree. Come, we'll show you. He was asleep when we left, but we're not sure if he stayed so." <br/><br/>Geralt was a desperate man. Dopplers took the form of the living, and if this one meant no harm- Geralt lowered his sword and nodded. It was the only hope he had to go off of. "Show me." <br/><br/>-----------<br/><br/>The doppler quickly turned and had started to sprint, and Geralt almost cursed at himself for letting his guard down. He raced after the body using Jaskier's face, though it quickly became apparent that the doppler was much more successful at traversing the forest quickly than he was. Geralt muscled his way through brush and bramble, and only caught the occasional crackle of branches ahead of him. All too quickly he found himself going down a hill and stumbling through the forest floor. His feet caught on a gnarled root and sent him tumbling. <br/><br/>His back broke through bushes which revealed an open field he fell into. He sat up quickly, recognising the form of the doppler in the middle, heading towards the opposite treeline. "Wait!" Geralt yelled, coming to his feet. He bruised and crushed the tulips under his feet, scrambling after the figure. It disappeared behind the trees and Geralt cursed. He came to a dead stop when it reappeared, holding the limp form of it's double. <br/><br/>Jaskier. <br/><br/>Geralt met the doppler halfway, dropping his sword as he watched the doppler carrying Jaskier like dead weight. "He's asleep. May take a moment to wake him up. Don't know if we accidentally crushed anything too much." Geralt didn't process the words as the awake Jaskier handed over the true Jaskier, the one will a blood-stained patchwork of a chemise, who smelt of lute oil and chamomile. Geralt's hands curled around Jaskier's form, bringing him slowly to the ground. <br/><br/>In the moonlight, he could see bruising around Jaskier's throat, as well as crescent-shaped indents on his arms. A struggle. Geralt brushed a bit of mattered hair away from his face and whined, hugging the limp form close and inhaling deeply. He could hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the throb of his pulse under his hands. "Thank you." He whispered, looking up to the doppler with burning eyes. <br/><br/>The Jaskier above him smiled oddly, nodding. "We knew he knew you'd come." Its voice changed and body morphed into that of an old farmer, a scraggly beard and hunch lowering it. "We mean no harm." Geralt nodded solemnly, watching the new body move away just as fast, hobbling into the treeline to disappear. With that, he turned his attention back to the bard in his arms. He tried moving his arms to pick Jaskier up before a groan escaped the bard's lips. His eyes fluttered gently and he took in a sharp gasp, coughing as he tensed in Geralt's arms. <br/><br/>Blue eyes met amber and Jaskier's gaze fell cold. <br/><br/>"Geralt?" </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I'll Always Find A Way Back Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier and Geralt make amends, but there's still much to discuss and discover.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Everyone to these two: It's okay, take your time, sound it out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier's chest heaved as he coughed, head turning to press against the wet leather of Geralt's chest armour. He shook as he took in a few more breaths, his throat aching and head pounding. He'd seen the ways Geralt's eyes stared at him, and he was overcome with a flood of emotion- mostly relief. He melted into Geralt's arms, took weak to truly pull himself up in a proper hug. Geralt seemed to understand, pulling Jaskier closer, tucking his head between the dirty collar of his chemise and the start of his jaw. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier let out a soft whine before breaking, tears collecting in his eyes. "You stupid, stupid man," He whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. "I hate you." Geralt gave a low hum, a hand going to cup Jaskier's cheek as he pulled back, a thin smile on his lips. "You don't." Jaskier shook his head. "Oh no, I very much do. You <em>hurt</em> me, Geralt. Shovelling shit? How long have I been part of your life? Do you know what you made me feel like! Inadequate!" <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier weakly protested as Geralt moved the two of them into a more comfortable position, holding Jaskier in his lap. Jaskier turned his body away from Geralt, the only form of protest he could stand to do as weak as he was. "If life could give you one blessing, it would be to take me off your hands. Do you know how hard I tried to make that happen, Geralt? Do you?" Jaskier hissed. "For twenty-two years I have considered you my closest friend, my greatest companion and my muse. You've saved me more times than I can count, and I've done and pulled lots of strings to keep you alive as well." <br/>
<br/>
"But no, it's not enough! 'Jaskier shut up', 'Jaskier you're too loud', 'Jaskier you're a nuisance', 'Jaskier you're an annoyance'." Tears dripped down Jaskier's cheeks, collected on his chin before soiling a spot on his shirt. "All I have ever done was sing your praises. I fixed your goddamn reputation to the point where children came to you, offering trinkets of gifts instead of running to their mothers. I sewed up every single one of your wounds from fights you acted too recklessly in. I tired myself, worked myself to the bone to secure enough coin for you to spend on potions and supplies. I trailed behind you, like a sorry little dog for two decades." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier pushed himself up to a sitting position and stared at Geralt. "And it was never enough for you." <br/>
<br/>
<em>Crack.</em><br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's hand hung beside Geralt's face, a bright pink imprint forming on the Witcher's cheek. Jaskier was shaking, lip quivering as he kept his stare cold. "You want me off your hands? Do it yourself, because clearly I'm still too inept to kill myself for you." <br/>
<br/>
--------<br/>
<br/>
Geralt should've expected resistance. He hadn't expected to be slapped. He listened as Jaskier spoke, his grip only growing tighter. If the bard just let him speak- Oh. <br/>
<br/>
<em>Oh.<br/>
<br/>
</em>"Jas- no." Geralt's voice was soft, barely a whisper. His pupils were wide, nearly no amber to be seen. His grip lessened as the last sentence sank in. Processed. He let his eyes drop, staring at Jaskier's chest. "That's not what I meant, Jaskier." He swallowed thickly, a shaky sigh leaving him. "That's never what I meant- god, no-" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt's hands found ground on Jaskier's cheeks, tugging his face forward. "I- I can't have you leave. I never wanted you gone- God, Jaskier. I wasn't myself on the mountain. You were never at fault."<br/>
<br/>
"You aren't the one shovelling shit, you're not useless! I'm the one creating the pile of shit, I buried myself neck deep and you only ever offered to try and help me to get out of the mess I've created. I didn't- I couldn't accept your help. I'm not supposed to be weak." Geralt found himself near tears. Witchers shouldn't feel. <br/>
<br/>
"I never knew what I needed from you, you did it all. I'm a wreck, I'm awful and yet you kept by my side. I should never have told you those things, I meant none of it. Not a word." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier's, shaking now himself as he hugged the bard close. After a moment, Jaskier's tense body went lax and he slung both arms around Geralt's waist, sighing. "If I'd found a djin, or mage before you found me Geralt, I'd be good as gone. I tried- I truly did." Jaskier pulled away. "It never worked. Back at the tavern at the foot of the mountain, a few blokes mugged me- stabbed me. I assumed the worst and tried to make sure I'd stay dead. Woke up good as new, just covered in blood." <br/>
<br/>
"Slit my wrists and waiting to be mauled by a monster. A Kikimora practically sawed me in two. Didn't work. Woke up with a headache and wasn't dead." Jaskier's hands kept a white-knuckle clutch on the fabric of Geralt's shirt under his armour. "Tied myself to a boulder, drowned myself in a lake. Couldn't get out after the first try, drowned twice before I could get back up to the surface." <br/>
<br/>
His voice went quiet, eyes firmly averted from Geralt's. "Died in this field. Pushed myself beyond my limits and my body failed. That was less than four hours ago, Geralt." Jaskier hissed, shaking his head. "What did you curse me with? Why won't I die?" <br/>
<br/>
-----------<br/>
<br/>
<em>"Why won't I die?"<br/>
<br/>
</em>Geralt's heart broke. It shattered, into a million pieces. He sat there, with a shaking Jaskier on his lap speechless for the first time in his life. Jaskier, his bard, his sun, the man who brought joy everywhere he and his lute went- had died several times, each in vain, trying to please Geralt. He choked on a sob, slumping against Jaskier, murmuring 'sorry' into his shoulder as he held on tight. <br/>
<br/>
"It was never supposed to be a curse," Geralt whispered. "The djin. You used your wishes, I wished only twice before I went in to try to save Yennefer. She needed me to complete the third wish." Geralt swallowed thickly, shaking his head against Jaskier's shoulder. "I wished for love. Somebody to stay with me evermore, to love me for who I am. I- I'd assumed it was her. Who would love me if not forced to?" <br/>
<br/>
He pulled away from Jaskier, eyes wet and red-rimmed. "But I think it's you. I selfishly tied you to myself, caused you this pain-" Geralt shook his head. "I'm so sorry Jaskier." <br/>
<br/>
<em>Crack.</em></p><p>This time, Geralt surely hadn't expected the slap. Jaskier's face was blotchy and red, and he had a trail of snot pushed towards his cheek as he sniffled. "You stupid." <em>Smack. </em>"Awful."<em> Smack. </em>"Idiot!" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt braced for another slap, but instead, Jaskier's hand landed on his cheek and pulled him forward, into a tender and warm kiss. Geralt let his eyes slide shut, reciprocating the movement and cradling Jaskier's head with both of his own hands. Witchers shouldn't feel- codswallop. All of it. If Witchers couldn't or shouldn't feel, Geralt wasn't a Witcher then. His heart burnt white-hot as he kissed the bard, tender and softly- everything he should've done <em>years</em> ago. Jaskier made a soft sound as he pulled away, new tears threatening to spill as he blinked. <br/>
<br/>
"You positively dense oaf." He said through a miserable laugh. "I've loved you for the last two decades, Geralt. No amount of magic could make it stronger than it's been. You never needed to wish for it in the first place," He whispered. "But I think your wish granted me the awful situation of being unkillable."<br/>
<br/>
"Immortal."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, that's what I said." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt felt his heart swell as Jaskier gave him a tired smile, light blue eyes finally twinkling as they caught the moonlight. "Promise me you won't be reckless with this newfound information," Jaskier said, furrowing his brows. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt hummed, arms looping under Jaskier as he made the move to stand. Jaskier gave an indignant yelp, throwing his arms around Geralt as they moved up further. "I just know that you're safe now," He hummed. "I have a lot to fix, even so." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier nodded. "That you do. You're forgiven, but I'm still deeply hurt. I could never hate you, no- but you need to fix exactly what you broke, and that would be my trust and heart." Geralt nodded and turned back towards the broken brush he'd stumbled through what felt like hours before. "I promise to do so." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's hands tightened around Geralt's shoulders as they began to move, Geralt taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry Jaskier." The bard hummed, leaning his head against the shoulder pad beside him. "I know you are. You've been sorry for lots of things." The witcher whined. "Jaskier, I'm sorry- truly. I can't fix what you've done but I can make a promise to never let it happen again." <br/>
<br/>
"I think that's a reasonable start." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Home Isn't A Place, It's In Your Arms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier's body is still recuperating from being dead and Geralt must carry him back to the tavern. Of course, this leads to mindless chatter filling the uncomfortable silence...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some of y'all asked how I've gotten so many chapters out so quickly. Let me get you in on a little secret. Super funky- it's called hyperfixation and ADHD.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt hoisted Jaskier up and into his arms as if he weighed slightly more than a sack of feathers, not even a grunt. Of course he'd weigh nothing to a Witcher, Jaskier mused, arms hanging around Geralt's neck as he pressed himself further into the man. "Bumpy road ahead, eh?" He said, bouncing in Geralt's arms as he trudged back up the small hill they'd both come down earlier. <br/><br/>"Not bumpy, you're just heavy." Geralt murmured, though the tone of his voice- fond and soft, betrayed the dry quip. Jaskier met it with a feigned gasp of indignation. "Am not!" <br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>Geralt was no stranger to working his way back from a hunt wounded, it happened regularly, but usually, it was a little less than a kilometre of a walk he had to make lugging a beast's head along. Not a several kilometre journey carrying a man who weighed nearly as much as a severed head in his arms. The claw marks across his back pulled uncomfortably- not doubt reopening as he flexed the muscles to keep Jaskier above his waist to prevent him from being too jostled. <br/><br/>"Can you walk?" He asked, glancing down at the bard whose head was neatly tucked against his shoulder. Jaskier grumbled, shaking it softly. "Feel woozy. Like I've drunk spiked ale- or how you feel after you get a rather nasty hit to your head." Geralt hummed, adjusting his grip once more as continued on walking. <br/><br/>The night was pleasant, all things aside. The moon was bright and full, and without the glare of torches from villages, the stars shown brightly against the dark backdrop of the sky. The skittering of animals was faint, but sometimes a rabbit would skirt out in front of Geralt and he'd stop abruptly. The walk started off pleasantly, but within two hours, Geralt was struggling to keep his breathing under control. <br/><br/>"Geralt? You're practically panting- what's going on? I'm not <em>that</em> heavy, am I?" Jaskier asked, his hands loosening slightly from around the other's neck. "You're red in the face." Geralt huffed before stopping his stride, shaking his head. "Killed the Kikimora that killed you. Swiped me 'long the back, think it's festering or inflamed." <br/><br/>"Well, that just won't do, put me down! I may not be able to walk much but I can clean your wounds." The bard's hands pushed against Geralt's chest as he knelt down, setting Jaskier down in front of him. "I haven't got any potions, or whiskey to disinfect. Left everything with Roach when I went out to come to get you." Jaskier tensed, though he said nothing as he gestured for the Witcher to turn around. <br/><br/>Geralt complied, sitting down and hunching over. Sure enough, the ooze of blood matted his shirt and armour to the wounds- two jagged claw marks and one irritated red line down his back. "Not deep enough for stitches, thank Melitele. But they're certainly puffy." Jaskier's hands were gentle as he peeled away the fabric of Geralt's shirt and tucked it under his armour. "You've probably pulled at the skin enough to irritate it more. I wish we had a sack of water or something- I'd hate to have you suffer through itchy, drying blood. You never let guts dry onto you if you don't' have to." Geralt chuckled, shaking his head. "We're coming up on a river soon, I can hear it." Jaskier rolled his eyes with a muttered <em>'</em><em>of course you can'. <br/><br/></em>Geralt turned back around and slipped his hands under Jaskier's back and legs once more lifting him up with a soft grunt. Jaskier leant back into his chest with a sigh, a worried frown etching lines into his forehead. "I've always hated seeing you injured, Geralt," He started, thin fingers twiddling with a frayed strand of string on his shirt. "You've always been this big, impenetrable wall to me. Protective, unstoppable. You were the immortal one, you were the one who never had to worry too much about dying from a flesh wound. Sent me in a frenzy when you'd come back from a hunt stumbling and dazed. Stitching you up was never fun. I've always hated the look of blood." <br/><br/>Geralt listened as Jaskier spoke, his voice soft and grounding as they made more ground. The earth grew moist under Geralt's boots. They'd be close to the river soon enough. "I never asked you to help. You always offered. I thought you'd wanted to." Jaskier hummed, nodding. "Well, at first I did. Wanted to repay you for letting me stick around. Then it became a tradition. You'd go off and hunt, come back all boorish and broody, and I'd fix you right up for the next inevitable hunt." Jaskier shot him a quick, thin smile. "You never said thank you, but I know you are. You let me buy nice things, new lute strings, oils, a sweet or two." Jaskier pat the area right above Geralt's heart. "It may be slow, and you may be dumb sometimes, but it's genuine. You're genuine. And I appreciate that." <br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>They made it to the river without complication, and Geralt allowed for Jaskier to tear at his patchwork shirt to create a rag to rinse off the kikimora's claw marks with. It stung, and the soft hiss Geralt let out only solidified the point. "Nearly done," Jaskier murmured, squeezing water over the wound so the fabric wouldn't irritate the skin further. "Just rinsing out the gunk. I ought to invest in a little pack for myself, fill it with salves and stitching materials for you." <br/><br/>Geralt bit his tongue as a retort formed. He had to be careful with his words- Jaskier was still fragile after all. They'd fallen back into light banter, but he couldn't go telling the bard off. Couldn't try to dismiss his worries. "Good plan." He felt his shoulders lighten as Jaskier paused and offered a genuine, warm smile. "Good. Now, how far do you think we are from the tavern?" <br/><br/>Geralt shrugged, rolling his shoulders to test the wound's movement. Stung much less with all the grime out and with the cool water calming the inflammation. "An hour, give or take a few minutes. I can smell the horse shit." Jaskier gave a bark of laughter, wringing out the rag before folding it up and palming it. "Well then, seems like we'll make it before daybreak." Geralt nodded and again, picked his bard up and continued on their journey. <br/><br/>Jaskier's laugh echoed in his mind. The twist in his gut, the swirl of 'what-if's had another thought added to it. <em>'What if I hadn't been so lucky'</em>. Jaskier was alive, and clutching at his arms, a muted story spun about the moon and her lover spilling from his lips. His cheeks had a lively flush and his lips were pink instead of a cool blue. His eyes blinked and flickered towards Geralt as he hummed every now and then, acknowledging the story. <br/><br/>Jaskier was alive, and he'd never again take that for granted. <br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>"I can see the path, we're nearly there Jaskier," Geralt mumbled, the bard in his arms giving a soft hum. Jaskier had fallen asleep halfway through his retelling of a story, and Geralt didn't try to wake him. He could feel the warm puff of air seep through the crack in his armour at the shoulder joint, hitting the shirt and skin beneath it. Jaskier, as human as he still was, couldn't hear the reckless voices from inside the tavern, but Geralt could. Muffled, maybe, but he could hear them. <br/><br/>When they broke the treeline, Geralt sighed in relief. The tavern was still standing, as was the stable. The night had barely begun to fade, the ashen lavender along the horizon barely noticeable unless Geralt focused on it. He switched from carrying Jaskier in both arms to slinging him over his shoulder, going first to the stables. <br/><br/>When he rapped on the door, he heard a squeak from the inside and a rushed apology, the frightful stableboy from before meeting his eyes. "Yer horse is here, Mister Witcher! I made sure no one touched her! Nippy, she is!" He announced, both hands rigid at his side. "My coin, boy." The stableboy nodded and disappeared into the stable, bringing back the heavy pouch. "All there, Sir, I ain't touch it since you threw it down." Geralt grabbed three of them and held his hand back out for the boy to accept. Dropping the coins into the kid's palm, Geralt could see his face light up. He held up his finger to silence the boy before gathering the rest of his coin pouch. "Don't keep them where people can see them." The stableboy nodded before shoving his hands into his pockets, the soft clink of the metal enough to make Geralt give a thin smile. <br/><br/>Jaskier was still readily asleep on his shoulder when he entered the tavern. As expected, most talking halted the second he appeared. The keep shouted at everyone to knock it off, and slowly the murmur grew back to its original volume. Geralt stalked up to the bar and quirked a brow. "Found yer bard I see." The keep said lazily, cleaning a glass. "Drunk?" Geralt paused. "Let's go with that." <br/><br/>The keep matched the raised eyebrow before setting the glass down. "You want a room or something? We have one." Geralt nodded and set down a pile of coin in front of the man. Without a word, he swiped the coin into his palm, counted, and let the smug smile he held drop as he handed over the key. "No funny business. I'on want any murders or blood on my walls, y'hear me Witcher?" Geralt took his pouch and the key with a nod. "Mhm." <br/><br/>--------<br/><br/>The room was shitty, the walls creaked as Geralt laid Jaskier down on the sour-smelling bed, the sheets stained with much more than just sweat and ale. Geralt grimaced and stripped out of his armour. He wouldn't call for a bath so late, but he'd bother the keep once more for some decent fucking food. Jaskier mumbled and turned on his back, a hand thrown over his eyes. "..'ralt?" His tired voice called. "Make it back?" <br/><br/>Geralt sat on the edge of the bed, a hand pushing Jaskier's arm out of the way. "Yes. Now rest- We'll only stay longer if you can't sit up by yourself in the morning." Jaskier gave a grumble, something along the lines of '<em>I could do that now'</em> before falling back asleep. Geralt brushed a bit of hair out of the way from his eyes and sighed. They both desperately needed to bathe properly, something Geralt rarely indulged in of his own volition. But Jaskier would whine about himself smelling, and would probably egg Geralt on to bathe as well. <br/><br/>Geralt discarded his shirt and laid down on his chest next to Jaskier, a hand carefully bringing the other to his side. With all the muffled voices downstairs, mixed with the rancid hay packing their mattress and the cold stench of blood- Geralt still found himself falling asleep before he recognised the thought. <br/><br/></p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I'm Weak Love, And I'm Wanting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They talk and make up, and finally get some well-needed relaxation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The plot is finally coming to a close! I expect maybe a few more chapters out of this, but rest assured, this will most likely not be my last work of the Witcher series.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morning doves cooed and Geralt woke up to Jaskier trying to twist out of his hold. He let his arm lift up and Jaskier froze, caught red-handed. "Good morning, Geralt," He whispered, turning on his side to face the other. "Jaskier." The bard chuckled quietly, pulling the sheets back up and over him. "My arm fell asleep, was trying to bring back the feeling." Geralt hummed and let out a stiff groan, arching his back to stretch. A series of dry pops sounded and Jaskier shuddered, "Disgusting." Geralt only chuckled. <br/>
<br/>
After a while longer of holding onto Jaskier, Geralt actually got up- pushed himself up and off the mattress to stretch and look out of their window properly. The sun was already in the sky, and since the doves were still cooing, it was just after eight or so in the morning. He turned back to Jaskier, who was still clutching the sheets like a babe, face buried into the pillow. "Jaskier." A moan and dismissive hand wave. "Jaskier." The bard flopped onto his side, frowning over to Geralt. "<em>Yes?</em>" Geralt cocked his head to the door. "Food. You haven't eaten in days, and we need to find a smith for Roach. She busted a shoe when we were going down the mountain." <br/>
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Jaskier sat up, leaning over as far as his back would allow before sliding off the bed. Walking was still a bit shakey, and Geralt quickly made his way to the bed, offering a hand out for balance and support. Jaskier took it and sighed, rubbing the area below his adam's apple. "Hurts to talk too loud," He said softly, eyes catching Geralt's. "Doppler decided it'd be a good idea to choke me to sleep." Geralt grunted, waving Jaskier's hand away from his neck. "Let me see." Jaskier dropped the hand and rolled his eyes, not having to even acknowledge Geralt asking before his head was gently tilted up and back. <br/>
<br/>
In the dim morning light, Geralt could still see the mottled red and purple bruising around Jaskier's throat. It was no gentle choke, but Jaskier could still breathe and talk without too much difficulty. "Lazy choking. No form." Jaskier snorted. "No shit." Geralt sighed and nodded. "We'll find a healer, get some supplies. You can't sing so we can't rely on coin coming from that just yet." The air stayed silent as Geralt stopped speaking, waiting for Jaskier. A wash of disappointment filled his nose and he glanced back over to the bard, now staring at the ground with a frown. "What is it, Jas?" Jaskier didn't look up. "Lost my lute." </p><p>Geralt softened again, holding up an arm. Jaskier slot himself underneath it and pressed his cheek against Geralt's shoulder. "Didn't expect to be coming back, so I propped it up against a tree and just- kept walking. A little token for anyone who happened to find it." He admit. Geralt swallowed harshly and awkwardly stroked Jaskier's back. "We'll find another. It was old, anyway." Jaskier allowed himself to chuckle. "Probably had blood on it too, no good in playing an instrument that dirty." Geralt was relieved that Jaskier didn't fight him on getting a new instrument, but he did know how much Filavandrel's lute meant to the bard. Perfect tuning, a warm, crisp sound to be guaranteed. You didn't just stumble upon such craftsmanship. If Geralt hadn't been sure of Jaskier's lineage of being strictly human, he probably would've assumed the bard had at least some elven blood in him. That, or the lute was enchanted quietly, a small promise etched into the carvings or upon the wood it was created from. <br/>
<br/>
----------<br/>
<br/>
Geralt had to lend both a pair of pants and a shirt to Jaskier, muting out his already lacklustre colours. For height, theirs was similar, so the Witcher's pants only hung slightly loose against Jaskier's hips, but Geralt was much more broad, so his shirt was loose and open against Jaskier's chest. Jaskier seemed to pay no attention to it, a good portion of his chest completely exposed. Geralt hadn't pegged the other to be so furred. Back in the lower half of the tavern, a few people sat around, drinking the newest batch of ale made for the morning. The keep at the bar was replaced by an older looking woman- most likely his wife. Geralt sent Jaskier to go sit as he went to ask about food options. The woman kept her beady grey eyes on him until he was at the counter. "Yer that Witcher, aren't you?" Geralt hummed, already tired of her single question. "I need food, and two drinks." The woman narrowed her eyes until she saw the bard behind him. "That little bard played here a few nights ago, all about the White Wolf." She crooked a boney finger at Geralt. "Is he 'posed to be you?" Another tired hum. "Yes." He said through clenched teeth. "We haven't eaten for a few days, we have the money, now if you please-" He pounded his palm to the bartop, and left a pile of coin for the woman to look at. "Send food to our table." <br/>
<br/>
The woman had bristled as Geralt's voice grew more forceful, but she huffed and took the money, her voice screeching at a passing girl to grab two plates and matching ales. Geralt turned back and sat back down at their table, eyes drawn to the heavy knot in the wood. "Somebody hasn't had their morning tea," Jaskier whispered, Geralt's eyes flicking back up to his. "She sounds like a crow." Geralt gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Don't insult the hand feeding you." Jaskier made a sound and waved him off, looking around before relaxing. Geralt took note and nudged his leg with a foot. "If something's worrying you, spit it out Jaskier. I'm no mind reader." Jaskier looked a bit sheepish, lowering his head. "Just looking out for the blokes that robbed me. I had a good amount of earnings!" <br/>
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Geralt shook his head, although he did feel guilty for not remembering their previous discussion over the matter. "They're long gone by now. For the better, we don't know if they'd try stabbing you again." Jaskier's arms tightened at his side, the hand in his lap pressing against his side involuntarily. "Let's not find out then." He murmured, looking up as the same girl the older woman had yelled at came to their table. "Here's your food, sirs," She said, setting down a plate of potatoes and a slick slice of what smelled like pork drenched in a fatty-looking gravy. "Thank you, you lovely lady," Jaskier cooed as the girl flushed and turned back around, a soft giggle catching Geralt's ear. "You should stop giving them hope." He muttered, poking at his food. Jaskier sighed. "Melitele knows they only get harassed by older pricks here, a sweet compliment is a good change for them." Geralt only hummed as they began to eat. Jaskier more slowly than Geralt, poking and prodding at the meal before putting it in his mouth. "I'll feel sick," He said quickly before Geralt could ask what the hesitation was for. Jaskier was right, and Geralt sat nursing his ale as the bard slowly finished his plate. <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
It was around ten or so, by the clatter of the timer candles, when Jaskier finished his meal and ale. They'd made small talk all throughout, and Jaskier's largest complaint, outside of getting chilly, was how rank the tavern smelt. "It's you," Geralt chided, raising both brows. "You haven't bathed." The bard whined, resting his head on the table. "Oh, don't say it like that! I'm simply- uh, well- <em>fermenting</em>." Geralt scoffed. "That's worse." <br/>
<br/>
It was easy enough to call a girl back to collect their dishes, but Geralt again had to haggle with the keep's wife to send up a hot bath. "That'll cost ya," she said, a smug grin on her face. "Triple a normal bath it is." Geralt gave a low growl, not more than a rumble in his throat as he put the coin on the bartop. "Only one?" The woman asked, raising a brow as he glanced between him and Jaskier. "Just the one." He confirmed, feeling the tense air relax once she turned around to place the coin in a box. "Saoirse, get the Witcher a hot bath comin'!" She called, another girl, a stout blonde nodding and hurrying off into the back. "Should be fifteen minutes." The woman said, flicking a copper back to Geralt in change. Geralt took the coin and handed it to Jaskier, who fumbled with it for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. <br/>
<br/>
"Thank you," Jaskier said quietly as they walked upstairs, back up to their room. "I needed one as well, don't let it go to your head." Jaskier hummed, tapping his fingers on his thighs as they came upon their room with an open door, a basin being filled by a few water runners in the corner. The stableboy from before, noticing Geralt, shot him a toothy smile before getting scolded by an older girl. They filed out of the room, and Jaskier felt almost bad as Geralt grabbed him by the collar to drag him into the room before he could thank the kids. Their door shut and Geralt sighed. <br/>
<br/>
"Tired? Sore?" Jaskier offered, frowning over at Geralt. "We only have the one, so let's make the best use." The basin was large, probably larger than a regular baths' would be. Geralt thought back to the smug look the woman had held before ordering them the bath. "Geralt look! It's huge!" Jaskier was already at the side of the basin, swirling his hand in the water. "Looks like soap's at the very bottom. It's quite warm, too." He breathed in deeply before standing back up and drying his hand off on his shirt. "Well? Shall we?" Geralt hummed and began to peel away his clothing, turning around to feign privacy between the two of them. He heard a slosh of water and kicked his pants away, glancing behind him. Jaskier was pressed against one side of the basin, sinking into the water up to his neck. "I'll move, here," He whispered, the water slipping around him as the bard moved himself to the middle. "You like leaning against the edges." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt joined Jaskier in the bath, the water definitely a hollow comfort, immediately loosening his stiff back. Jaskier relaxed right back onto him, comfortably seated between his legs. The bard's arms resting on Geralt's knees and his head hit Geralt's chest. "When we get back to a better town, bigger one- we're ordering a scalding hot bath. The biggest one they have to offer." Geralt hummed, bringing a palmful of water up and over Jaskier's head. "No we're not." The bard only hummed back in response, closing his eyes as the water trickled down his face. "Well then maybe I'll just order it myself."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt wouldn't argue, not that he could find anything to argue about the topic anyway. Jaskier was right- they did need a better bath. Sharing a bath was only good if the water could handle the grime, and in a basin this small, it was simply enough to wipe away sweat for the appearance of cleanliness. Jaskier moved in between his legs, craning his head back to look at Geralt. "Thank you." Geralt's heart throbbed in his chest, a hand landing on Jaskier's cheek, wiping a smudge of mud that had left a grey streak along the skin. "You're welcome," He murmured, wetting his hand again to finish cleaning the bard's cheek. Jaskier puffed them up after Geralt's hand left, pouting. "And?" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt raised an eyebrow, though he was already leaning forward. "And what, Jaskier?" The bard furrowed his brows. "You know what to do, Geralt," Jaskier whispered. That he did, and Geralt finished leaning forward, pressing a warm kiss to the bard's lips. Jaskier melted against his chest, hands sinking onto his thighs and giving a gentle squeeze. Geralt's hand curled under Jaskier's jaw and held it firmly, pulling Jaskier deeper into the kiss as they both sunk into the water a bit more. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier pulled away with a pop, eyes dilated and half-lidded. "You breath stinks," He whispered cheekily. Geralt rolled his eyes. "We ate the same food." Another high hum from Jaskier before Geralt's face was being pulled back down by wet hands. "Then I'll try to ignore it this time."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. OPTIONAL: Extended Bath Scene</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Obligatory makeup fuck. Not essential to the story, don't read if you aren't comfortable with smut.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier pulled Geralt's face down for another kiss, the at first sweet and tender moment turning more heated as Jaskier opened his mouth, inviting Geralt's tongue in to explore and lick. A growl vibrated in Geralt's throat as he controlled the kiss, a firm hand pulling Jaskier's head up with his own, the open-mouthed kiss sending a shiver down his spine. Jaskier's hands only trailed further down his thighs, body twisted around to kiss Geralt while also facing away from him. The kiss broke and a string of saliva connected their mouths as Geralt's hands landed on Jaskier's chest. "Jaskier-" He murmured, his lips finding ground against the pale skin of the bard's neck. <br/><br/>Jaskier's head lolled back against Geralt, tilting to the side to expose more skin. His breathing hitched, and hands gripped the meat of Geralt's thighs tighter. "Come on," He breathed, one hand leaving Geralt's thighs to land on the back of his head. "I'm here Geralt," He whispered. Teeth met his flesh and he let out a shuddering gasp. "Here and mine," Geralt growled out, nipping at the tender flesh beneath Jaskier's ear. Jaskier whined below him, back arching as he pushed his neck further up into Geralt's face. The wash of musk, pine- the faint scent of long-faded oils was too much for Geralt. His hands raked down Jaskier's chest and roughly pulled him closer. The bard seemed quite okay with that, a soft moan escaping his lips as he was manhandled. <br/><br/>Jaskier's skin felt aflame as Geralt marked up his neck and shoulder, biting and sucking deep purple marks along the skin. He shuddered and sagged against the Witcher, eyes shut and fluttering with each new sensation. The combination of biting, dragging and gentle kisses had his cock steadily growing harder beneath the water. He let his legs fall open more, hooking one on the side of the basin, breathing hard against Geralt. "Please-<em> please, Geralt-"</em> He whined out, turning his head more to bury into the Witcher's skin. <br/><br/>Geralt's hands ventured further down Jaskier's chest, but not after teasing his nipples, taking the pebbled skin between his finger and squeezing. The throb his cock gave and the airy whine that escaped his throat was pathetic as he bucked up into the water. Jaskier gave a soft cry of relief when Geralt's hand brushed over his cockhead. He didn't have to beg another word for Geralt to wrap his hand around the hard length, the tip of his thumb digging pleasantly against the vein that ran down underneath. <br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>Geralt could tell the moment their kiss parted how aroused Jaskier was. The sweet, almost sickly sweet scent of lust filled his head as Jaskier had turned around and whispered to him. He'd found a new spark in himself, with Jaskier so pliant in his arms- he'd have the bard for himself if it was being offered. And the sounds Jaskier made as he claimed the skin on his body were sinful. <br/><br/>Jaskier could sing, but this was a lewd, private solo for Geralt's ears only. Jaskier's voice carried and echoed as the room seemed to only encompass the area of their bath. His cheeks flushed ruby red, the blotchy flush creeping down his neck and onto his freckled shoulders. Broad, muscled shoulders that moved as Jaskier writhed against Geralt, following the chase of pleasure he was deprived of. <br/><br/>Geralt's hands travelled the expanse of his chest, almost tempted to thread through the hair on it, trailing down to a thick line, directly to his heavy cock. Geralt, however, took his time, feeling Jaskier up and teasing him, before finally allowing him the pleasure of having his prick being played with. <br/><br/>Jaskier was not a small man by any means, he was nearly the same size as Geralt. The only different was their build- Jaskier was lithe and lean, muscles carved from what was a willowy man, built by his constant dancing and travelling. Geralt was built by mutagens, muscles that Jaskier had always said made him look like a walking wall. Larger than Jaskier, he mused, as his hand curled around Jaskier's cock. The calluses on his hand from wielding his sword rubbed against the thin skin, feeling each pulse and throb Jaskier had, the pounding of blood beneath his skin. <br/><br/>"Tell me what you want, little lark," He said lowly, beginning to move his hand, pulling the tight skin around Jaskier's cockhead down before releasing and thumbing the slit. He was met with an open mouthed moan, Jaskier's chest caving as he shuddered. "<em>Geralt-</em>" He moaned, voice broken already, hips bucking up into the Witcher's hand. "<em>Fuck me."</em> Jaskier's command was Geralt's pleasure, and so he did. Geralt's pace quickened, and his grip tightened around Jaskier's cock. The bard's hips bucked up into the warm, wet hollow of his palm, chasing the release of pent up pressure. <br/><br/>A hot coil in Jaskier's belly pronounced itself as he spurt out a glob of precome which disappeared into the water. The liquid around them sloshed as he moved, his open leg over the side hitting the side softly as he fucked up into Geralt's hand. He'd gone so long without a proper fuck, the touch and low, husky voice of Geralt sending his mind into overdrive. He could feel Geralt's cock against his back, growing steadily harder as he chased his own release. He dipped a hand down into the water and behind him, the angle awkward but enough for him to curl around Geralt's cock. "<em>Geralt-"</em> He whispered, egging the Witcher on. <br/><br/>Soon enough, Jaskier's arm was aching as it sat behind him, his hand being roughly fucked by Geralt, with Geralt leaning over him to jack Jaskier off at the same time. The water was cold by now, heated only by the desperate movement of both of their bodies, chasing their own releases. Jaskier's stomach rolled, the tight coil threatening to burst. He whimpered as Geralt's hand moved ever faster, the Witcher's thumb coaxing more precome out of his cock. His back went tight as a bowstring and he froze, coming soon after with a broken shout. Geralt's hand never slowed, continuing to pump Jaskier's cock through his orgasm. Jaskier was breathing heavily by the time his head cleared, the buzz of pleasure still lingering as Geralt took his hand away to hold Jaskier still. <br/><br/>Geralt's cock throbbed as he fucked Jaskier's hand, chasing his own release after finishing Jaskier. He didn't moan, nor did he make any sounds other than soft grunts, a growl low in his throat. "<em>Jaskier-" </em>A warning, as Geralt's thrusts became erratic. His abs tightened, clenching as he trusted up and into the soft palm surrounding his cock. Jaskier moaned as Geralt's hands gripped his arms, tight enough to leave marks. Geralt came with the only soft moan of the ordeal, airy and broken as his head fell onto Jaskier's shoulder, his nose buried deep into his neck. Geralt's release lasted longer than Jaskiers, and his cock quivered for a moment longer before giving one last, pathetic pump of cum into the water. <br/><br/>---------<br/><br/>Both men breathed heavily, resting against one another as they caught their breaths. Jaskier was the first to speak, a drunken smile on his face as he relaxed against Geralt. "I'll have you know," He started, stretching with a soft moan. "I have wanted that for <em>years</em>." Geralt, still breathing hotly against Jaskier's neck, chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the skin. "I've dreamt of more," He whispered. "So much more than just this." Jaskier's body rolled against his with a laugh, the bard's blue eyes twinkling. "It's a damn shame that you haven't done anything about it, then, because now the water's all dirty, and you're still not cleaned up." <br/><br/>Geralt growled playfully and splashed a bit of water up and onto Jaskier's chest. "We'll bathe in a river then, with animal piss and mud." Jaskier groaned, shaking his head. "And to think I was expecting more- I'm wilted, Geralt. That's disgusting." The Witcher hummed and pressed a gentle kiss to Jaskier's cheek. "Looks as though maybe we'll need that grandiose bath in town after all."  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. In The Woods, Somewhere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt and Jaskier make their way towards a new destination, healing and rekindling their friendship. Friendship? Well, it's seemed to have grown to be more than that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yes i stole the chapter title from hozier, don't sue me</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After cleaning up best as they could, both men were ready to be back on the road. Geralt's back had healed nicely overnight, and Jaskier was convinced that a healer could wait for his throat. Geralt reluctantly agreed to allow Jaskier to walk, with Roach still having an injured hoof, it certainly wouldn't be smart to double her load. The innkeeper was back downstairs, and that suspicion that the short-tempered old woman was his wife was confirmed as Jaskier pointed out on their way to the stables that she'd been wearing a ring on her necklace, one similar to the one on the keep's finger. <br/><br/>"Could be a coincidence," Geralt goaded, a mirthful smile on his face. "Who knows, maybe it's just statement jewellery." Jaskier scoffed, waving his hand as Geralt opened the stable. There were four other horses, all tied to their respective posts aside from Roach. Two beautiful grey stallions, a chestnut mare similar to Geralt's own, and a speckled mare that seemed smaller and younger than the rest. None of the horses seemed too upset of Jaskier coddling them while Geralt untied Roach. "Don't press your luck, Roach may feel betrayed," Geralt warned. "Now come on, don't go breaking any more ladies hearts." <br/><br/>Jaskier chuckled as they exited the stable, dusting his hands off on the oversized shirt. "Where do you suppose we should head? I'm afraid I don't exactly remember which way," He glanced around them on the path, two forks on either side of them, "We came from." Geralt hummed, nodding East. "We came that way, however," He turned Roach the opposite direction. "There's probably a better chance we'll find healers going West. It's warmer, that way too." After a moment, he transferred Roach's reins from one hand to the other, holding his free hand out. Jaskier faltered for a moment, walking in step with Geralt before being nudged by his hand. "Oh-" Jaskier slowly wrapped his own around Geralt's, feeling the other man give it a gentle squeeze. "A sap." Geralt huffed. "It's so you don't get lost." <br/><br/>-----------<br/><br/>The path West was much less dense than going East, the trees slightly thinning out the longer they travelled. Two hours down the path, and already, Geralt could feel the shift in humidity. His hair hung closer to his neck, refusing to completely dry and curling slightly at the ends. Jaskier's hair, what was usually straight and flat, had taken a wave and puffed up. The bard had said nothing, so Geralt kept his mouth shut. It was cute, in a way, seeing Jaskier with hair he'd rightly fret over if he held a mirror up. What was disappointing was the lack of music. With no lute to strum, and Jaskier's voice wouldn't hold a note no matter how softly he sang. Geralt had to urge him to rest his voice lest he lose it after Jaskier tried singing a song to Roach. <br/><br/>The mare was walking better than before, most likely due to growing used to the lopsided horseshoe on her hoof. Of course, Geralt still noted how she favoured her leg, and how it slowed them down more than it normally would. Jaskier's hand never left his, either, even after being clasped together for so long. The sky was cloudy, not nearly as bright as the days before- Geralt assumed that meant the coast was experiencing unfavourable weather. The dark grey clouds that peppered in between the large, voluminous white ones in the sky made it look jagged and deep, and the shadow they cast was immediately chilling when the sun's rays were blocked out. <br/><br/>Eventually, Geralt could smell the salt in the air. From the change of plants, no longer high, dense brush but thin, whip-like stalks with fanning leaves, they must have been close to an estuary, or at the very least, a delta. He couldn't hear the ocean, but the taste of the air was thick with sand and salt. Jaskier's breathing deepened as they grew closer to a town, the path showing tracks of carriages and more than two sets of hoof prints. "About damn time we run into something," Jaskier said, swinging his and Geralt's arm back and forth excitedly. "The sky looks just about ready to dump out the rain." Geralt glanced up and conceded with the bard. The grey sky had darkened dramatically, and winds that pushed trees into growing sideways was whispering across their faces- a ghost of how strong it could become. "We're close. We should get there before any rain starts." <br/><br/>-----------<br/><br/>Another half-hour and Geralt was proven correct once more. The path opened up to a small farm, which led to one wooden house, then to the next. After entering the borders of the coastal town, Geralt could finally hear the ocean. The crashing against the bluffs crisp to his ear, and Jaskier excitedly pointing out that he could hear the rumble. They kept walking, a few of the rural farmers decidedly ignoring their existence, some sparing them a glance. It was clear where the more lively of the residents lived, small farms turning into gravel paths, which then turned into beaten cobble roads. Roach's hooves gave an echoing clop as they continued walking down towards the centre of town. Jaskier was quick to point out the signs, tailors, fishermen's supplies, a butcher. They paused in front of an apothecary, Jaskier standing guard of the horse as Geralt entered the shop. It was dim, dimmer than outside. The heavy floral scent of lavender, poppy, honey all hit Geralt at once as he squinted around. There was a scuttle behind the counter and a hobbling old man cleared his throat. "Aye, what can I do for ya?"<br/><br/>Geralt hummed, bringing out his coin pouch. "I need a bruising salve. And a vial of berbercane." The man let out a throaty chuckle. "Berbercane? You must be a Witcher," The man's head peered towards Geralt. He had two milky eyes, hooded and very deep-set against his wrinkled face. "I have some, quite a bit of it, actually. It's always been stored just in case we get visitors like you." The man waved his hands for Geralt to come follow, and he slowly walked after the man around the shop, accepting a pot of a sweet-smelling salve, and then another minute of shuffling through vials and jars before he was handed a glass full of the fruit. "Anything else I can do for you, Witcher-sir?" Geralt looked down at what he held and glanced towards the door. "Do you have any chamomile? Oils?" The old man gave a sound, shaking his head. "If I didn't, I couldn't call myself an apothecary! How much do you need?" Geralt's brows furrowed, and he cleared his throat. "My friend uses it as- perfume. Usually a tiny vial, about as large as my thumb." The man didn't seem to be listening as he hobbled back to the opposite side of his cluttered shop. A few more mutters, clinking sounds and a sharp '<em>aha'</em> and a vial just of the sort was being shoved into Geralt's chest. <br/><br/>"Will that be it for ya?" The man asked, making his way back towards the counter. "I hardly get seasoned and knowledgable customers such as yourself, anything else you need?" Geralt was mentally adding up what he assumed to be the price of the ingredients and huffed. "Refined white honey." The man's brows shot up. "Ah, a jokester! We hardly get those- white honey's as rare as women my age are, around here. You'd do better up North for that." Geralt shook his head, grumbling. "Then this will be all." The man pulled a face, mumbled out what he'd given Geralt and slapped the counter. "Twenty-four crown." Geralt hid his surprise as he put the coins down onto the counter in front of the man. In any place he'd visited, he usually spent well over fifty crown per item. "Thank you," He mumbled, pocketing the vials and putting the jar in the opposite pocket. "Right then, off you go! Can't have you stepping on anything important!" The man shooed Geralt out of his shop before he could fit in another word. <br/><br/>Jaskier was leaning against Roach, her head nuzzling affectionately on his shoulder. "Geralt!" Jaskier shot up and away from Roach, an embarrassed flush filling his face. "So? What'd you get?" Geralt held up the jar of salve and handed it to the bard. "For your neck." He plucked the small vial of oil out of his pocket. "Also uh, for, your uses." Jaskier held onto both items, looking down at them, and then back up to Geralt. "I never mentioned oils- Thank you, Geralt." Jaskier's smile was worth the money, Geralt knew that. The surprise in his voice only told Geralt that Jaskier hadn't entertained the thought yet- the small show of affection enough to surprise him. Geralt stored the knowledge of that in the back of his mind. "I also got another ingredient to make more potions. I still have some, though, not nearly enough for many more hunts." Jaskier nodded, slowly pocketing the items he'd been handed. "Seems like a good idea to stock up- can't have you potionless." <br/><br/>A hum of agreement sounded before Geralt took Roach's reins back into his hand. "Did you see a smith anywhere?" Jaskier shook his head, frowning. "No, but there's plenty of ironwork around here, so there must be someone who knows how to work metal." Geralt hummed and urged Roach forward, and down the rest of the cobble street. <br/><br/>Jaskier was right, and they found the metal shop tucked behind the weapon's one. The burly man behind the counter was hesitant to serve Geralt, but after a moment's worth of sweet-talking from Jaskier- as well as a promise of a tiny bit extra coin, he took Roach back and went about fixing the shoe. The man, a muscular redhead with a thick accent, was decently fast. "Her hoof's fine," He explained, pressing gently to the soft skin around it. "Stepped on a rock, dislodged the pins. Easy fix fer me."  Easy it was, and after ten minutes of gentle tapping and a new shoe, Roach's leg was pat and set back down. "Better than new. Shoe shouldn't come off fer a few weeks." Geralt hummed and dug the payment back out of his pouch, which was slowly lightening as the crowns were spent in succession. The man slid each crown into his pocket, one at a time, and then shot a gapped smile at both the bard and Witcher. "Pleasure workin' fer ya." Jaskier thanked him in place of Geralt before they left the confines of the metal shop. "See? I told you so!" Eventually, Geralt would have to grow tired of rolling his eyes because of the bard. "That you were." <br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>With Roach's hoof fixed properly, and Jaskier having a small bit of healing ointment, technically, they were done in the coastal town. But Geralt knew as they approached the breaking cobble road, turning to sandstone, they were far from leaving. Jaskier practically vibrated on his feet, watching the bluffs slowly give way to the dark ocean. Without the nice weather, it was jarring. Geralt always hated the swirling white rapids close to cliffs. Jaskier stayed close at his warning, the bard's hand never leaving Geralt's as he ventured ever closer to the drop of the bluff. "Oh, we have to wait until the sun comes out, Geralt! Look at the beach!" Jaskier's hand gestured towards the path down to the small beach a ways aside from the rocks. It had boats docked up against the shore, each tied to a pole. High tide, by the looks of the deep grey sand. "I need the coin to pay for a stay here, Jaskier. If they have a job, I'll take it, but they seem unbothered." Jaskier's face dropped, but his nodded in understanding. "Of course- well, maybe we should ask? What if it's not a monster! You've got," Jaskier pat Geralt's bicep. "Big, burly muscles. What if they need somebody's haul lumber! Or- or drag fishing nets into boats!" <br/><br/>Geralt gave a heavy sigh, blinking slowly. He wasn't a lumberjack, nor was he a fisherman, but indeed, they were jobs that could pay decently. Not as much as a hunt, but daily, enough for a stay at an inn. And by the prices of what the people charged him for ingredients or ironwork, he assumed the inn would reflect the same, cheaper-than-expected price. "We'll see. The bulletin in the tavern or town hall will show what they need done." <br/><br/>Jaskier smiled brightly and clasped his hand firmly around Geralt's. "We should go check up on those then, shan't we?" Geralt, weak as always, nodded and let his bard guide him towards the rust-coloured building with a bell atop of it. The things he did for his bard... <br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. At Least We Were Prepared</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sure enough, their little coastal town does need help from a Witcher. For once, Jaskier doesn't even want to see Geralt go on a hunt.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>did y'all like the fluff? ... good :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The town hall was much larger and more sturdy than any of the other buildings and had a stark white line that hit just a few inches above the heavy wooden doors. Geralt's eyes followed the line until it hit the corner of the building, where other faded lines had been drawn, each with a scribbled number on them. Waterlines, he realised. He felt uneasy stepping into the building, mind retracing exactly how high up they were in comparison to the ocean. The bluffs were a good twenty or so feet high, and the door was another eight. Around a thirty foot climb for water to hit, multiple times as shown by the washed away paint from before. His hand's grip on Jaskier's tightened. <br/>
<br/>
The bard seemed unaffected, as well as ignorant to Geralt's inner turmoil as they entered the well-lit hall. It seemed to double as the centre for attraction, dozens of villagers all seated on tables, games of gambling and drinking happening in small corners. The bulletin was posted across the way as Jaskier tugged Geralt along, ignoring how again, the rowdiness slowed as each person noticed the burly Witcher being dragged along by his bard. They stopped in front of the wall full of parchment. Most were announcements, dating back two to ten years, the handwriting staying in the same font. <br/>
<br/>
"Looking for work?" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt turned around to see an older gentleman, probably in his late fifties, approaching them. Jaskier quietly let go of Geralt's hand and shoved his own into the pockets of his pants. He hummed and studied the man's face, sunspots dotting around his receding hairline. <br/>
<br/>
"You the alderman?" Geralt asked, quirking a brow. <br/>
<br/>
"You a Witcher?" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt's lips thinned in response as he met the man's stare, unsure of the man's intentions. His voice was hollow, cold, and sounded more like a statement than a question. Geralt gave a curt nod. <br/>
<br/>
"Good. We've got a monster for you, out in the waters." <br/>
<br/>
Of course. Geralt grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. "I don't fight fish." The alderman shook his head, waggling a crooked pointer finger. "This is no fish, no man either." The alderman cleared his throat. "We reckon it's a Leviathan." <br/>
<br/>
A cold ache hit Geralt's stomach, washing over him in a wave of dread. "Those don't exist," He said firmly, though his voice trailed into a less firm whisper. "Sea monsters are stories, fairytales." <br/>
<br/>
The alderman kept a surly and cold face up, his jaw tightening. "Care to explain that to our halved boats? We've got abandoned houses, families of seven have all gone missing out at sea- no bodies or limbs recovered. Their boats wash up with gouges on their sides, snapped in two by jaws larger than any beast we know of." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier butt in after a moment, his hand landing on Geralt's shoulder, cold to the touch. "Ah, well, you see here, we're from inland! We <em>don't</em> have sea monsters or Levipythons-" <br/>
<br/>
"Leviathans."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, those-" Jaskier blabbered, chuckling nervously. "How about, you give us a small compensation- perhaps a night's stay at an inn while we think this over? Right, Geralt? We'll go check it out, see if we can do something!" <br/>
<br/>
The alderman's face looked unamused as he sighed, averting his gaze for the first time as he gave a small grumble. "You promise you will look into this? We can provide a boat, weapons if need be. None of our men dare go fight the beast, we've got wives, children we can't leave behind." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt looked down at Jaskier, whose hand was wrapped tightly on his shoulder pad, knuckles turning white. He let his eyes fall back to the alderman, watching the man's face tighten back up- worry lines on his forehead appearing as his brows furrowed, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening. The man's hands were clasped in front of him and Geralt noticed a beaten and worn ring on his left hand. He sighed deeply and nodded. "We'll look." <br/>
<br/>
The alderman's features softened as he gave a tight smile and nod. "Wonderful. The inn is just along the bluffs- the cobble in front has moss on it. Can't miss it. Tell Esmerelda that Eian sent you for the night." <br/>
<br/>
----------<br/>
<br/>
"Why did I say yes, Jaskier?"<br/>
<br/>
Geralt paced their room, hands gripping the rag he'd torn from the bedsheets they'd been given after receiving their room. Jaskier had been the first to apologise, acknowledging that they were in no shape to face a sea monster. 'I thought you'd wanted to rest', he'd said, fear rolling off of him in waves as Geralt kept pacing their room. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Don't do that Jaskier, don't get scared of me." He said quietly, looking back at the bard with a pinched expression. "I'm worried. Not angry." Jaskier gave a dramatic sigh, holding his forehead. "And I'd thought I'd somehow pissed you off by getting us free things." The Witcher gave a silent chuckle, shaking his head. "I have three potions; they're only meant for quick hunts, but if it's just some poor creature, or whale, they should do the trick. I'll kill a whale if need be, I'm sure the villagers would appreciate at least a semblance of peace." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier nodded and opened up his arms, Geralt taking the cue to go over and sink into a hug, the bard's hands running down his back in soothing circles. "You're allowed to be worried, Geralt. But don't fret over things we don't know yet- take precautions, but don't assume you'll fail." Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "It's alright to be scared of the uncertain."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt's eyes stung and he blinked the burn away as he buried his face into Jaskier's neck. They stayed like that, Geralt with most of his weight pressing the bard to the wall, sinking into his embrace for a while longer. Jaskier slowly pushed Geralt's chest back and offered a tired smile. "We'll go out in the morning then? Survey the waters, report back to base?" Geralt chuckled and carded his hands through Jaskier's hair, mussing up the sun-bleached locks. "<em>I</em> will go out, you'll stay here." <br/>
<br/>
The statement hung between them, Jaskier's face falling into a soft frown before melting back into a smile. "Alright. I'll stay on the beach- I'm not leaving you to your own devices, you know. I want you in my sights at all times." <br/>
<br/>
"I'll do my best to stay so." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier chuckled and led the Witcher to the bed, the soft, salty-scented hay moulding around both of their bodies as they laid down. Jaskier flung an arm over Geralt's chest, tucking himself against the man's shoulder. Geralt moved his arm to lay under Jaskier's head and earned a murmured 'thank you'. He soon fell asleep with the sound of Jaskier's even breathing, the crash of waves behind him. <br/>
<br/>
----------<br/>
<br/>
The day started as unproblematic as it could. The sun finally shown, after a day of rain-threatening clouds, it was a nice change. The meal they received as complementary was a whole cooked fish, and a side of mashed carrots and peas. It was filling, and a change from dirt-bland potatoes and beef. The ale was crisp, not watered down but slightly salty. The air buzzed and Jaskier's hair didn't lose its half-wavy volume. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt and Jaskier met with Eian, the alderman, back at the door of the town hall. He was dressed in a different chemise than the day before, more ill-fitting, but thinner, billowing in even the softest breeze. "Witcher." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt hummed, and Jaskier greeted the man with a slightly tight tone, receiving the greeting of 'boy', which only ruffled him more, though he kept quiet about it. Geralt's attention stayed on Eian. "Leviathan. How do you suppose we go about looking for it?"<br/>
<br/>
The alderman shuffled on his feet, hands rubbing together as he opened and closed his mouth for a moment. "Well, I- I'd assume you would take a boat and <em>look</em> for it. Like you would with any beast." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt grunted, watching the man flounder. "I usually have a trail to follow. Marks to see, something to gauge it's location off of. I don't hunt fish, I told you as such. If you want this thing gone, you'll give me the instructions on how to find it first." The alderman audibly gulped, the scent of fear sour as it rolled off of him. "Well?"<br/>
<br/>
"It comes out at night- we lose men during hunts for perch, or bass. We think it comes to feed on the schools and destroys boats it sees as predators." The alderman took in a shaky breath. "But it's ravenous during storms- just last month, we had a killer wave hit the bluffs- six men were skewered on the rocks below, and we all watched them disappear, day after day. No waves touched them, but we heard the screams of the beast at night." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier paled, hands shoved deeper into his pockets. Geralt glanced to the side and muttered, looking back up to the alderman. "I need a boat. Small one, a rowboat if possible. I also need a crossbow." The alderman nodded quickly, offering an unintelligible agreement. "Is there a storm you're expecting?" <br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir- one tonight. The waves are grey today- sand is being picked up more than normal. Take a look for yourself." Geralt did, glancing out to the waters. Deep spots were speckled under the already greyish waters, swirling and heavy. They looked like small whirlpools underneath the surf. "It should hit by dusk- the clouds were a warning." Jaskier muttered something along the lines of 'oh sweet Melitele' as he gave a shaky sigh himself. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll be in the waters before dark then." Geralt said firmly, holding out a hand for a shake. "What kind of payment should I be expecting? I don't work for free, nor do I work solely for board." The alderman shook the Witcher's hand and offered the first genuine smile. "Two-thousand crown. We've lost many men to this beast, and we've needed it gone for years." Geralt let the surprise he felt flicker across his face for once. <br/>
<br/>
"Deal." <br/>
<br/>
--------<br/>
<br/>
"Geralt! No, <em>no!</em>"<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's hands scrabbled against the leather of Geralt's armour as he strapped himself up in their room, the sweet scent of the meals downstairs wafting through the floorboards. "You can't! Are you insane? This isn't some baby monster, it's not even like Borch!" Jaskier finally gripped a piece of the Witcher's armour and pulled, stopping Geralt as he pulled a boot onto his foot. "You're not going out." <br/>
<br/>
"Jaskier, lay off." He hissed out. For once, Geralt was thankful that Jaskier wasn't a Witcher, that he was just a human. A human who couldn't smell the coiling fear in his gut, and the throb of a stress-induced headache. Jaskier couldn't see the erratic beat of his heart, or hear the slight change of how Geralt breathed. He was scared shitless, but gods be damned if he gave any of it away to his bard. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll be fine. The alderman was exaggerating. I'm positive it's just a whale or shark." He wasn't. If the story was anything to go off of, there was no way in hell the alderman was lying. No scheme lost dozens of people in such a short period of time, and no lying man reeked of fear so raw it made Geralt nauseous. <br/>
<br/>
The bard let go of Geralt's armour and he stepped back, lip quivering as he stared the man down. "If you <em>die</em>, Geralt-" <br/>
<br/>
"I won't."<br/>
<br/>
"<em>But you could.</em>" Jaskier's hands shook at his sides, and Geralt watched as small tears beaded up in the bard's eyes. "You could! And that's terrifying, Geralt! You could drown, you could be swallowed whole! Do you know if Leviathans are poisonous? What about their skin? Do they succumb to steel or silver? What if it's neither? What if your swords break!" Jaskier was in hysterics, fat tears cascading down his cheeks as his voice broke. "Geralt, <em>promise me,</em> fucking promise me that you'll be coming back. I don't care if you have to abandon the job, <em>I can't lose you</em>."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt's throat tightened as he finished putting on his boots, and grabbed his gloves.<br/>
<br/>
<em>I can't say I will. </em><br/>
<br/>
"I promise I'll come back safe."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. We Were So Close, Too Close</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt goes out to find the alleged Leviathan, and has more than one battle he's fighting at once.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sure you've noticed some spelling errors/mistakes and I want to reiterate, this is solely my work. Unbeta'd, no proofreader except me. I'm trying to go back and find the tiny errors before I post but my eyes can only catch so much.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leaving the inn was one of the hardest walks Geralt took. Jaskier stood in the doorframe, face blotchy and red, and Geralt could practically grab at the heavy covering of fear. His leather armour was beaten in, bent too much. He realised as he walked down to the beach, lit up by torches, that leather was an awful idea out in the waters. It always had been. <br/><br/>--------<br/><br/><em>"Geralt! Swim, damnit!" <br/><br/></em><em>The lake was huge, and oh so very cold. The waters licked at Geralt's neck and his arms felt like lead. His linens were dragging him down, and each kick propelled him only enough to keep his nose out of the water. Vesemir was yelling at him, muffled by the water clogging his ears. Eksel had already made it to shore, and was swaddled in sheepskin. He could hear the boys treading water behind him, but he could also hear the ones beneath the surface. <br/></em></p><p><em>He could hear the fruitless kicks and sobs of the boys trapped under the water, their muscles too cold to continue working. He'd watched Johan- a lean, sinewy redhead lose the fight and sink below him. The voices at the other side of the lake shouted for them to ignore their falling and already fallen brothers. Geralt's eyes burnt. His lungs burnt. His body felt like it was on ice, but everything burnt like a branding of salt and fire. <br/><br/></em><em>He was close, he was so damn close. He kicked his legs as hard as he could muster, but his body was failing. He couldn't keep up. He watched as his arms grew heavier in front of him, enough to where he could barely move his shoulder. More muffled yelling, orders to keep going. Geralt watched as his head sunk beneath the cold waters of Kaer Morhen's frigid lake, clouding the crisp vision he had with fading images of blurry brothers, of his mentor. His head felt waterlogged and black spots dusted over his vision. He fought the sinking, fought it off with all his might. He couldn't breathe-<br/><br/></em><em>His body convulsed as it shot full of adrenaline. His arms moved despite their screams of agony, his legs worked despite feeling like they were about to fall off. The water that had trickled into his lungs sloshed around, weighing him down, but not enough. His hands scrabbled against the wet mud below him. His back soon broke the surface. Geralt coughed and shook as he climbed up onto shore. He had a second's worth of victory before his body gave out and his face collided with the cold, wet earth. <br/><br/></em>---------<br/><br/>Geralt steeled himself as his boots hit the sand. The path down to the beach was slimy, seaweed and foam lined the black and grey sand, marbling it like expensive art. Eian and two other men, a bald man, and the smith he recognised, were holding the rope attached to a rickety-looking rowboat, and the bolt pack of a crossbow already inside of the wooden vessel. <br/><br/>"The storm is set to start within the hour," Eian said, his voice soft compared to the harsh crack and crashing of the waves. "It usually appears a good way out- you'll have to go past the stacks." The rock formations in question looked like talons- sharp, broken black rocks against dark waves. They were at the very least a kilometre out from shore. <br/><br/>Geralt's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Good- do you have a size estimate? A comparison I could use? I need to know if I should be aiming to maim, or if I need to kill it before it can even notice me." Sea monsters were fairytales, he reminded himself, though it was useless as the alderman spoke again, joined by the smith. <br/><br/>"It's as big as a treasure ship-"<br/>"Its eyes are as big as a man." <br/><br/>"Right." Geralt rolled his shoulders, both swords tucked against his back. He'd strapped his chest plate on differently, to accommodate both swords, and the buckle was uncomfortably far up his back- he could hardly reach it on his own to tighten it. He wouldn't be able to undo it on his own. <br/><br/>"We'll pull you out, past the first white-crested wave. You'll be on your own once we can't pull you no more," The bald man said, holding up the ropes. "We're counting on you, Witcher." <br/><br/><em>You shouldn't. I'm not sure I can do this.</em><br/><br/>"It'll be dead by dawn."</p><p>---------<br/><br/><br/>The men did as promised, and had lugged the rowboat out and allowed Geralt and it to be claimed further into the ocean by the receding white waves. The water was cold, and Geralt's hands clutched the paddles of the boat. His mind was hazy, old echoing voices mixing with his own thoughts. He didn't have to move a muscle for the waters to take him out into the deep. The boat rocked and groaned, the wood straining against the water. <br/><br/>He could see the clouds, hear the rumble of thunder. The first pelt of rain stung against his cheek. The storm broke loose. Water hit the ocean like tiny liquid daggers, and Geralt shielded his face to prevent them from taking out an eye. All water looked white-crested, despite the waves forming well behind him. The rock stacks were just up ahead, and an impending sense of doom hung over the small rowboat. <br/><br/>Geralt could hardly hear anything over the shrieks of rain, and the roar of thunder. It was hard enough to pinpoint movement he didn't cause by his boat, the water rolling up and into the shell. He picked up <em>Cat</em> from his belt and swallowed the bitter liquid before tossing the glass aside. He had a single <em>Golden Oriole, </em>and another <em>Cat</em> just in case- but he truly feared he was far too disadvantaged. A new, uncomfortable terrain. The wrong armour. Most likely the wrong weapons. His vision hazed for a moment before lightening up, and he was able to focus on the waters around him. <br/><br/>Something was below the surface. An inky, jet-black line swirled below him; a coil of what was to come. <br/><br/>Geralt loaded the crossbow with an iron bolt and perched himself on the side of the boat. He waited, silently, allowing the natural movements of the ocean to dictate where he was pushed. The coil froze and disappeared. Geralt's throat closed up as he continued to stare down into the water. <br/><br/>It lunged. The tip of the monster's nose broke the surface and the boat was thrown back by the sheer force of the water displacement it caused. The bow fired and the bolt struck a nostril. Geralt's chest hammered as he pulled out his silver sword, readjusting his grip before the snake-like creature charged its head forward once more. <br/><br/>It missed the boat, and Geralt's swung missed by a hair. It disappeared under the water, a shrill scream muffled by the waves. Geralt could see the glint of the iron bolt below the water's surface, and that was the only thing he could track as the monster swum below him, circling and trapping him in a dark black coil. An unearthly warble below him and again, the boat was thrust back, the nose clipping one of the rock stacks as the Leviathan reared up- it's neck covered in thousands of dark green, blue and purple scales. They seemed to ooze out slime, opalescent against the dim light of the moon. Geralt angled his sword and it clipped the soft scales of the beast's neck as it struck the side of it boat, the blade hanging heavy with a greenish wash of blood, slime dripping off the edge of the sword like a thick pudding. <br/><br/>Geralt turned around and grabbed the bow and bolts, holding them under one arm. He sheathed his blade and calculated exactly how far the rock stack was from his boat. Ten or so feet. It turned to five as a heavy ripple from a surfaced backplate from the beast pushed his boat forward.<br/><br/>He jumped. <br/><br/>Gloved hands hit the cold rock and Geralt struggled to find a grip against the wet formation before he slid into the waters. His feet both found a slot to hang in, and his free hand finally gripped a piece of rock jutting out from against the rest of the rock. Geralt's attention turned back to the rowboat as the monster reared up once more and destroyed the boat- splintering the heavy wood like glass as it pulled one of the larger pieces down into the depths of the water. <br/><br/>Geralt steadied himself against the rock and climbed. The stack was tall- fifteen or so feet above the water, and had a small platform about five feet above him. He made it up as fast as he could, fingers aching terribly and boots soaked through as the water threatened to steal him off of the rock. He threw the crossbow and bolts down onto the flat, wet platform and took his sword back out. From above, he could clearly see the true mass of the creature. <br/><br/>It's tail flicked above the water forty feet away, and the bulbous head circled the remains of the boat. He realised it must have been waiting to see him fall into the water. Another minute of waiting and the beast seemed to realise Geralt wasn't in the boat. It gave a shrill screech as it bolted towards the rock stack. <br/><br/>Again, bearing its neck towards Geralt, it smashed an open mouth over the platform. Geralt felt the stack shift against the weight of the monster, heavy rocks falling with thundering crashes into the water as the already precarious formation shifted. Geralt's sword penetrated the bottom of the Leviathan's mouth and released a gush of dark green blood that slickened the handle of his sword and the rocks below him. The beast fell back with a cry, whipping its head around before focusing once more on where Geralt stood. <br/><br/>He didn't have time to reload the crossbow as the beast slammed its head into the rocks once more. Geralt's sword met bone and he was gone. His hand slipped from the handle, and he felt a rush of air hit the back of his neck. The beast's head followed him as he slammed into the water. <br/><br/>--------<br/><br/>Everything was dark, far too dark. Geralt's eyes could hardly grasp light through the murky waters, and the muffled crash of rocks above him the only alert of movement. He pat himself down as he kicked his legs, finding no potions attached to his belt- only broken glass. His steel sword was still in its sheath and Geralt pulled it out to have a piece of protection in front of him. <br/><br/>He could see the stack's base, just ten or so feet ahead. The water around him pulled in all different directions as he slowly swam towards the dark rocks. A quick whoosh beneath him spun him around and he barely had time to bring his sword up before the Leviathan's head was lunging for him once more. <br/><br/>His back hit the base of the rock stack and a stream of bubbles left his mouth as teeth sunk around his legs, but his sword stuck out of the back of the Leviathan's head. He roughly yanked the blade out and pried the beast's mouth off of him. The waters turned even darker as the beast's body released gallons of dark green blood. <br/><br/>Geralt's chest ached. He looked up and couldn't tell how far from the surface he was. The base behind him felt infinitely tall. He turned around, ignoring the fire in his legs, and climbed. <br/><br/>He dropped his sword in favour of using both hands. He climbed. <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>His back burnt. His chest ached. He climbed. <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>He could faintly hear Vesemir's voice again, deep and rough- calling for him to keep going. He climbed. <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>His head was heavy and he could no longer feel his hands. <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>His body was screaming at him to give up, to let go and to sink. He nearly gave in. <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><strong><em>"Geralt, promise me, fucking promise me that you'll be coming back. I don't care if you have to abandon the job, I can't lose you."<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/></em></strong><br/><br/>His hand broke the surface. Geralt pulled his body up and onto the shattered remains of the rock stack. It was lopsided and had formed a leaning tower of precarious rocks. The chunk he'd fallen off of was toppled but left a piece that sheltered him from the rain in its place. He pushed himself up and onto the rock, heaving, panting, but alive. <br/><br/>He gave in to the aching, cold, wash of exhaustion in his body and fully collapsed against the stone. He'd be fine. He'd promised Jaskier. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Lessons Learnt, Bridges Burnt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt doesn't come back after the monster hunt. Jaskier doesn't want to wait to find out why.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The storm hit hard further out in the ocean, and Jaskier watched as the heavy clouds rolled over the small coastal town. The spatter of rain and booming thunder drowned out even the chatter of the townsfolk in the tavern below. The room he and Geralt had gotten shared one window to the shore- just enough to see the ocean lapping at the sandbar, but not much further out. <br/>
<br/>
Eian had warned Jaskier as he and the other men returned that Geralt was going to be too far away to hear or see from, most likely until dawn. Jaskier's stomach twisted, gnawed on itself until he lost his appetite. He slowly nursed an ale, plate of food forgotten in front of him as the alderman conversed with his wife, the innkeeper they'd spoken to the day before. The bard's eyes stayed focused on the door, a wash of fear prickling his skin as he left a small tip under his mug, leaving the bar area and heading back up the rickety steps to his room.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>---------<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier was uncomfortable on the bed, despite sleeping like a baby the night before. The side Geralt slept on reeked of him- heavy musk, sweat, blood and all. His hands curled around the sheets on Geralt's side and pulled them closer, up to his nose. Geralt didn't even need to be next to him to provide a wash of warmth, calming the gooseflesh on Jaskier's arms and the back of his neck. The rain outside didn't stop, and eventually, came down harder. The storm had passed over the ocean and made landfall. <br/>
<br/>
Despite the calming scent of Geralt, the warmth of his clothes and the weight of the blankets and furs provided- Jaskier didn't sleep. <br/>
<br/>
Correction; he couldn't. His mind raced, and despite his steady heartbeat, paranoia crept along his skin and sunk deep into his bones. Faintly, whether false or true, he could hear screaming. No words, no rhythm, but a steady shriek. It stopped once he tried to pay attention to it, straining his ears to catch the sound once more, but when he laid his head back onto the pillow, the room seemed to shake and the shriek resumed. He knew it was himself- shaking on the bed, anxiety releasing in full-body shudders, and the ringing in his ears was most likely caused by the rain and the combined voices below him. It didn't sound like Geralt, the man didn't cry for help. He didn't scream. <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
The morning was heavy, the fog from the ocean and storm blinding and dense- Jaskier could hardly see a metre in front of him. He collected one of Geralt's shirts and doubled up on his layers, the breeze coming off the waters piercing through both layers with ease. He crossed his arms as he ran into the alderman during breakfast. <br/>
<br/>
"Where's Geralt?" Jaskier prodded, sticking a fork into the mushy mess on his plate. It smelled awfully stale and like a rancid brine. Not the nice cut of fish they'd received on their first night. His eyes caught the alderman's and he tightened his jaw. "The Witcher- where is he?" <br/>
<br/>
The alderman swallowed, sunken eyes averting from Jaskier's. The bard stiffened, letting out a tight breath. "Eian." That got the man's attention and he glanced over to the door, shoulders sagging. "He didn't come back after dark. We assumed the beast got to him. That or the waters." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier let the words sit above him, floating around his head. He refused to let them settle, to marinate. Geralt didn't just 'not come back'. Geralt never <em>failed</em>. That was his whole thing. The White Wolf, slayer of beasts, a Witcher with more than a shred of humanity to his name. Geralt of Rivia didn't just <em>disappear</em>. "He'll be back before noon, I bet," Jaskier murmured, lifting a mug to his lips. "Maybe he got tired. Witchers are just less susceptible to wear and tear than humans are." <br/>
<br/>
The alderman gave a tight chuckle. "Sure." That sent a chill down Jaskier's spine. <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
After breakfast was finished, Jaskier dug around Geralt's multiple packs and vials, finding the many empty glass bottles of potions-to-come, and the makings for each tucked away in their own separate vials. Jaskier didn't know how to procure a Witcher's potion, so they were pretty useless to him. But he did find his old dagger, folded up in his bloody chemise. He wiped the blade off, revealing small circles of stain on the metal- steel didn't like to be mistreated. He hung the blade on his hip, just underneath the belt holding his pants up. He gingerly applied the bruising salve to his neck, just as Geralt had done the night before in a hurry before he'd left on the hunt. Jaskier ghosted his fingers across his skin, pretending for a moment that Geralt was taking care of his wounds once more. <br/>
<br/>
With nothing else to scavenge from, Jaskier glanced out the window, eyes narrowing as the fog didn't budge, before quickly making his way down and out of the inn. The cold air around him seemed to only grow heavier as he reached the beach's bluffs. The footsteps from the night before had been washed away by the rain, as the sand was sticky and liquidy, sucking Jaskier's boots in with every step. He was careful in his descent towards the sandbar, the ocean further back than usual in the early hours of the morning. <br/>
<br/>
On the beach itself, a wretched smell finally caught up to his nose. He couldn't see the source, but it smelled like a net of fish had been left to rot in the sun for weeks, during the highest days of summer even. He slowly made his way across the beach, finally seeing what he'd been searching for. A wooden stake shoved deep into the sand with a sturdy rope attached to it. Jaskier knelt down and took the rope into his hands, watching as it went out and into the fog. Following it, slowly, Jaskier came across a tethered boat. It looked a bit beaten up, worn down. A personal boat, just large enough for one man to sit in with a net and rod. The ocean water gently lapped at his feet as he used the blade from his hip to sever the boat's tie, breaking the rope with ease. <br/>
<br/>
He grunted, failing for a moment before the suction underneath the boat gave way and he could push it further out into the water. Once the water was licking at his thighs, Jaskier climbed into the boat, rocking it gently as the waves took him out to sea. The single paddle at the bottom of the boat was thin and crusted with barnacles, he'd make it work.<br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
The rock was wetter than Geralt remembered.<br/>
<br/>
He gave a hoarse groan as he pushed himself up, body aching and shivering. He pulled himself further against the leaning structure, huddling on himself in a corner. Gingerly, he checked his legs to find still-open wounds, though there was significant healing compared to the gashes made the night before. He quietly thanked Melitele that for whatever reason, the teeth had missed his artery both times. He looked around and gave a heavy sigh. He wasn't getting off the rock anytime soon. <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
The fog was still dense as Jaskier rowed his way out into the deeper parts of the waters. He could begin to see the outlines of rock stacks, their heights staggering and uneven. They reminded him of teeth- the jaws of a beast from the deep. He let the thought go, the irony of it all not pleasant to hang on to. <br/>
<br/>
The currents were weak, and Jaskier could break off and travel horizontally compared to the stacks, zig-zagging his way until they were in clear view. Clear as they could be, against such heavy fog. The left-most stack was tall, towering, and had a wall of moss facing the sandbar. Most likely because it was the least abused side, and the plants could grow without being roughly scraped away by waves and sand. <br/>
<br/>
The stack closest to him was similar, a bit bent and jagged, but it had moss covering the majority of the side to him. He swore he saw a crab scuttling around on the head of the rock on its base. <br/>
<br/>
The furthest stack, and right-most, was by far the shortest. It had several points that looked like rocks had simply been cut off, angular and sharp. Nothing like the conical shape of the other stacks, with sharp peaks but wide bases, rounded out by the abuse of the ocean. Jaskier paddled closer, narrowing his eyes as he slowly got a clearer picture of the rock before him. <br/>
<br/>
It had definitely been smashed, he could tell as he approached the side facing him had one rock balancing almost impossibly against a very jagged edge. The top of the stack wasn't pointed like the rest either, and Jaskier grew weary of getting too close. It looked just ready to completely topple over if he so much as blew on it. <br/>
<br/>
Slowly, he turned his boat to circle the formation, the fog far too dense to see anything other than the lumps of rock and the jagged edges on which the formation sat. He grimaced and looked down, chest buzzing. Geralt must've been further out at sea- or maybe he'd swam to a nearby cave. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier was just about to turn around, paddle already being pushed away from the rock before he heard a hoarse cry come from the formation. <br/>
<br/>
<em>"Jaskier!"</em><br/>
<br/>
--------<br/>
<br/>
Geralt's chest hurt, and the ache only went up as he tried breathing in deep. His ribs had probably broken over the fight and were just in the beginning stages of healing as he went about feeling for injuries. The worst were probably the ones immobilising his legs, the gashes still too painful for him to feel around and gauge severity on. The best of them, in comparison, was the bloodied palms he'd gotten from his gloves tearing against the rocks. They'd healed overnight, fleshy pink scar tissue still in the process of truly healing over. <br/>
<br/>
His eyes burnt as he looked around, with no extra potion, the heavy fog blinded him as good as any covering of darkness would. He shook again, rejecting the chill in his bones as he tried moving about. With no luck on any tries, Geralt stayed on his back, listening for anything, or anyone. <br/>
<br/>
The morning passed with barely a whisper. The soft lull of waves, the trickle of rainwater, and the slosh of his armour were the only sounds Geralt could make out with clarity. He couldn't hear the frightful crash of the waves at the shore, nor could he hear any calls of gulls. He began to find himself trying to sleep away the aches and shivers, though even that escaped him. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt only perked up when he heard a repetitive slosh. It sounded like a constant dunk, the sound his hands made after they left a bucket of water for washing. The sound Jaskier's laundry made as he wiped it against a soap board, the wooden and metal block falling in and out of the water in a pattern. He leant up onto his forearms, straining to hear the noise. <br/>
<br/>
It went away, slowly, before getting uncomfortably close. Geralt saw nothing, heard only the sloshing of the mysterious object before movement caught his eye. He gave a pained whine, sitting up to try and gauge how far away the movement was- and what it was. He took a deep breath, assaulted by the salty wind, the brine of the waters- the soft herbal scent of rose, beeswax- </p><p><em>Chamomile.</em><br/>
<br/>
Geralt's voice was shot, and it truly hurt to yell, but he cried out Jaskier's name in the hopes the bard would hear him. His stupid bard, on a tiny little boat, out in the deep waters of the ocean Geralt had just slain a Leviathan in. The Witcher didn't stop the smile on his lips as he heard a faint cry of his name back. He fell back onto his back and gave another, weaker shout, the sloshing now rapid as the boat came closer. He had a moment to relax, and he took it, letting his eyes slide shut as he heard Jaskier's voice clearly. <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier pushed his little boat against the base of the rock formation, shoulders burning as he paddled furiously towards the sound of his name. He could finally see Geralt, holed up in the corner of the jagged edge of the rock, laying spread-eagle. There was a tinge of red around him which greatly upset the bard's stomach, but he persisted. The boat was able to stay lodged between the rock and waters as Jaskier tied the very short part of rope he still had to use around a small boulder next to the Witcher. <br/>
<br/>
He gingerly stepped onto the base, the waves creating an inch of water on the ground as he knelt over Geralt. His face was pale and still had the translucent properties a potion would give him, all without the actual blackened veins and eyes indicating the flood of magic in his system. Jaskier's eyes landed to his legs and he gave a soft gag, seeing how truly gnarled the skin was. Six deep gashes across both thighs, tearing straight through his armour and flesh- it was enough to make Jaskier dizzy. <br/>
<br/>
"Geralt, you stupid man," He murmured, hooking his arms under the Witcher's to start to drag him back towards his little boat. The vessel was tiny, truly, and Jaskier could hardly fit himself and Geralt in it. He had to keep Geralt's legs hanging off the side, the Witcher's head in his lap as he untied the boat and began a very slow paddle back to shore. <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
Once the waters grew shallow, the boat was harder to paddle to the sand, Geralt's added weight caused the butt to skim across the wet sand, catching and stopping Jaskier's efforts to get further up into the sand. Eventually, Jaskier discarded his paddle and gingerly extracted himself from the boat, hopping into the neck-deep water to start to pull the boat in. <br/>
<br/>
It was awful, and he was constantly hit and pushed back by receding waves. He sputtered as he received another faceful of cold, wet, salty water, but the level of water around him slowly dropped until it was hardly at his thighs. The boat behind him came to a sudden stop and no matter how hard he tried, Jaskier couldn't make it budge. He dropped the rope, silently apologising to whatever poor bastard was going to lose his boat to the ocean and gathered Geralt from out of the bottom. <br/>
<br/>
The Witcher was heavy, and Jaskier struggled to drag him through the water and back up onto the sand. He kept checking that Geralt was even breathing, holding a hand over his mouth for a moment before continuing to pull him out of the water. Once the lap of the water no longer reached Geralt, Jaskier dropped him and fell to his knees next to the Witcher on the sand. <br/>
<br/>
He panted, swallowed thickly as he looked to the man beside him. Jaskier finally let out a broken sigh of relief, melting on the Witcher's chest as he gathered up a handful of hair, pulling Geralt's head in close. "I know you can't hear me," he whispered, "but I was so scared I'd lost you." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier only looked up when he heard yelling coming from the descent towards the beach, Eian hobbling down, hands cupped over his mouth. Jaskier tiredly looked over at him, raising an eyebrow as the man took to a sprint, reaching the two men in just seconds. The alderman was out of breath, though clearly looked a bit queasy as he glanced down. <br/>
<br/>
"Is he- Is he dead?" <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier shook his head, eyes shut as he leant his head in the direction of the alderman. "Not dead, just unconscious. Needs a healer." Jaskier fought back a yawn, blinking his eyes open rapidly. "Call out a healer- get him back to the inn. I can't-" Jaskier took in a deep breath. "God I'm tired-" <br/>
<br/>
----------<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier woke up in a chair, in his and Geralt's shared room with a jolt. He looked down to see his outer shirt had been stripped, though he was still in the first layer he'd worn. Probably too much trouble for the person who'd brought him up. <br/>
<br/>
He was in the room. <br/>
<br/>
His eyes shot to the bed, Geralt's head peeking out from underneath the pile of fur and blankets. His chest flooded with relief as he shakily made his ways towards the side of the bed. The bard took to a knee, his hand falling on Geralt's forehead. No fever, just simply warm to the touch. Jaskier let his head fall onto the Witcher's chest, and was met with a groan of discomfort. <br/>
<br/>
"I need rest," Geralt whispered, his amber eyes breaking open slightly. The lines around them creased as he gave a tired smile. "Hello, little lark.." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier buried his head into Geralt's chest, silently shaking against the man as he held him close. "You didn't come back-" He whispered into the Witcher's shoulder, gently shaking his head. "The alderman said you weren't back before dawn- I'd thought you died, Geralt." He pulled away slightly. "Well, not <em>died-</em>died, but I was incredibly worried! You never take so long on hunts." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt shook his head, gently lifting a hand to fall onto Jaskier's cheek. "Didn't have a way to get back- the fucker bit me." That gained a laugh from Jaskier. "No boat, no ability to swim- I just waited." Geralt sighed and let his hand fall onto the bard's back. "Knew I'd be fine, I promised you that, didn't I?" <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier breathed in deeply, moving to rest his chin on Geralt's collarbone. "That you did," He murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip fo Geralt's nose. "I would have killed you again if you didn't keep that promise." The Witcher only nodded in acknowledgement, looking to the bard before looking to the empty space beside him.<br/>
<br/>
"Join me?"<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier obliged without a word, climbing into the bed next to Geralt, resting his head on the Witcher's shoulder, an arm slung over his waist. He pressed himself firmly to Geralt's side, basking in the heat that rolled off the other.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt was alive. Jaskier couldn't help but lean and press another soft kiss to the curve of his jaw, listening to a rumble form in Geralt's chest alongside the steady beat of his heart.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt was going to be fine.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. We Are Going Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A tumultuous journey must come to an end. Jaskier and Geralt discuss where they believe their path ends, and where a new one begins.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>!!! We're here! This is the final chapter! Thank you all so much for staying along for this (arguably short) journey with me! This fic was wonderful to write and I definitely didn't take any inspo from the comments, aha, no, not once...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt woke up with a small twinge of pain across his chest, and his legs were buzzing uncomfortably but as he tried sitting up, he jostled a body to his side. He looked down and let a pleased smile grace his lips as he found Jaskier clinging to his arm like an infant, pale fingers tugging at his linen shirt limply. <br/>
<br/>
He moved his arm just enough to pull the bard's head up onto his chest before he stretched the limb out without waking the other man, wiggling his fingers to dissipate the tingle of numbness and ice prickling at his fingertips. His whole body ached uncomfortably, but it was healing. He sighed, taking in a lungful of the calm and medicinal scent of Jaskier's oils. Healing and warm. <br/>
<br/>
He couldn't stop the second pull of sleep if he wanted to. He sunk back into the bed, holding Jaskier ever closer. <br/>
<br/>
--------<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier woke up in a slightly different position than how he'd fallen asleep. He could hear the soft beat of Geralt's heart, and he could feel the other man twitch in his sleep, a few soft murmurs falling from his lips. The morning sky was blindingly clear, and the beam of light that trickled into their room was a crisp line that was only broken by the wave of a nearby tree occasionally. <br/>
<br/>
He could faintly hear seagulls outside, squabbling on the beach or somewhere close to it. The heavy scent of fish was muted as he turned his head back into Geralt's chest, inhaling the Witcher's musk- a mixture of sodden earth, vanilla, and some wave of sweat. Earthy and comforting. Jaskier kept his head placed neatly tucked between the man's shoulder and neck before he felt Geralt stir. <br/>
<br/>
He supposed the whisper of air he'd been breathing onto his neck had something to do with how Geralt tilted his head down, letting out an airy chuckle. <br/>
<br/>
"Jaskier." <br/>
<br/>
The bard could've melted, then and there. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the skin in desperate need of a shave and laughed quietly. <br/>
<br/>
"Good morning, Geralt." <br/>
<br/>
The Witcher rubbed a hand along Jaskier's back, and Jaskier let his own hand trace a small pattern along Geralt's forearm. He looked up with doe eyes, pouting as he caught Geralt's gaze. <br/>
<br/>
"We should get breakfast before they run out of fresh cuts." <br/>
<br/>
A huff. <br/>
<br/>
"Geralt." <br/>
<br/>
The Witcher hummed, pointedly ignoring Jaskier in favour of pulling him closer. Geralt's nose landed on top of Jaskier's head and the bard allowed him to indulge in the softness of his locks, shaking his head for good measure as his hair was mussed up. Geralt's hands never let go of Jaskier throughout the soft exchange, his thumb gently rubbing the skin exposed on Jaskier's side. <br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, for last night," Geralt murmured, eyes sliding shut as he sighed. "I wouldn't have gotten back without you." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier shook his head and gave a small groan as he pushed himself to sit, hanging his legs off of the bed. "It wasn't just me, darling- Eian probably had to carry us both back. I admit- I was underprepared for how taxing it would be to drag your lifeless body through the waves." Jaskier's hand cupped Geralt's jaw as he spoke. "But in the end, we both turned out okay." <br/>
<br/>
The Witcher hummed, a hand coming up to keep Jaskier's to his face, warm palm pressed tightly against the cool skin of the back of the bard's hand. "You weren't hurt, were you?" <br/>
<br/>
"No, but you were-" Jaskier paused and let his eyes fall. "Sat in a pool of your own blood when I found you- all mixed in with seawater. I know you've got a strong immune system, but it could've gotten infected. You could've died of exsanguination, of all things with those nasty bites to your legs." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt nodded,  grunting. "They did hurt, definitely not a pleasant experience." It earnt him a chuckle from the bard, who shook his head again tiredly. <br/>
<br/>
"My point stands- that was the most treacherous hunt you've ever been on."  <br/>
<br/>
Geralt almost wanted to point out that it earnt them quadruple the amount of coin he'd usually get from a dangerous hunt, but the hurt look in his bard's eyes stopped him. He noticed the sag to Jaskier's shoulders as he spoke, how his heart sped up. <br/>
<br/>
He was scared. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt leant into his hand more, turning his cheek to press a kiss to his palm. "It was- I need time to recover." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's eyebrows shot up in a dangerously questioning manner. That didn't bode well. <br/>
<br/>
"Jaskier, don't." <br/>
<br/>
The bard's mouth moved before he could truly finish his warning. "How long? Because now that the threat is <em>gone</em>, Geralt- I suppose it wouldn't hurt to," he shrugged, looked around the room before meeting Geralt's eyes once more, "stay a while longer. It's the coast, after all." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt hated to admit it, but Jaskier was right. As fast as his healing was, he wouldn't be in any shape to go on another hunt for weeks- months if he was underestimating himself. The bard was right on two standing grounds- it wouldn't hurt for them to stay, if the alderman wanted coin for a longer stay in his inn, Geralt could easily pay or bargain a cheaper price. Jaskier was also right that there wasn't any harm to doing so. The coast held little monsters, nothing except the sea to be too hospitable for dangerous creatures. <br/>
<br/>
And Geralt had just killed their largest enemy, the only danger to the small coastal town. His chest flooded with a hot rush of recognition, and his eyes shot up to Jaskier's. <br/>
<br/>
"We're at the coast." <br/>
<br/>
The bard gave him a warm smile. "That we are." <br/>
<br/>
"You've always said you wanted to see the coast." <br/>
<br/>
This time, Jaskier's eyes twinkled and he leant down to press a gentle kiss to Geralt's nose. No words were said, but Geralt worked through the small pang in his chest to meet Jaskier half-way, pulling him into a gentle kiss with his good hand. The bard returned it eagerly, pulling away with a dazed look. <br/>
<br/>
"We're staying." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier nodded dumbly before laughing, and Geralt felt his body go hot. With the warm light filtering in behind them, Jaskier's entire silhouette looked illuminated. His skin, already milky and ethereal, got a warm golden glow surrounding it, highlighting the curve of his jaw and edge of his cheeks. His hair, soft and golden brown, seemed to float as the wisps of broken baby hairs turned bright yellow in the sun.<br/>
<br/>
The dancing of shadows across his features only highlighted the best parts, and Jaskier's eyes stayed piercingly blue- that same bright cornflower they'd been when he first approached Geralt, twenty-two years ago in Posada. <br/>
<br/>
It felt like nothing had changed. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt didn't feel like being able to spend the rest of his life with Jaskier was ever destined to be a bad thing, and felt almost compelled to apologise to either Fate or Destiny for cursing them earlier. <br/>
<br/>
"Are you done staring?" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt blinked and scoffed. <br/>
<br/>
"I've only just started to." <br/>
<br/>
-------<br/>
<br/>
Once Jaskier helped Geralt sit up fully, he checked the bandages. Geralt's legs were a mess, the flesh still healing over, though deep gashes didn't seem to be filling in. They were still pink and Geralt swore he could see the pump of his veins through the skin. Jaskier vehemently denied seeing anything move and encouraged the Witcher to stop looking so hard. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt could walk, with some help, down into the tavern area. He leant heavily against Jaskier, who'd slung Geralt's arm over his own to add stability. The bard didn't stagger as he found them a table, and sat the Witcher down. The silence of them reappearing was broken by the innkeeper, her voice brightly accented. <br/>
<br/>
"You there- Witcher. You killed that monster, didn't you?" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt nodded slowly, watching the woman approach. <br/>
<br/>
"We're all indebted to you. My husband, this town- it's been a terror for years. Many men have sacrificed their lives to trying to rid our waters of it." <br/>
<br/>
She offered a curt bow, and when she looked back up, her eyes were wet. "You have our eternal thanks." <br/>
<br/>
She left them, going into the back for a moment, leaving Geralt and Jaskier to stare at one another in a slight daze of confusion. Most people thanked Geralt with coin, and even then, they were begrudging to part with it even after the hunt was over and done with. Jaskier looked back over to the door she'd walked into, watching as she and Eian, the alderman, reappeared with two bags each, full of coin. <br/>
<br/>
Geralt's face paled as the money was set in front of him, the table shaking slightly by the force. <br/>
<br/>
Eian spoke first, patting a hand onto the side of one of the pouches. <br/>
<br/>
"A decade's worth of money, all collected for the riddance of that beast. We didn't know how long it'd take, so every year, every man, woman, and child pitched in five crown. Sometimes we got a few who gave more, some years we donated in honour of those who died to the beast." <br/>
<br/>
His voice softened, pushing the bag towards Geralt. "It's about high time we part with it." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt's throat felt dry suddenly, and he looked down at the offering on the table. Reasonably, the money was his. He'd slain the monster, gotten hurt near fatally in the process, and had only accepted the job because of the coin in the first place. But it felt wrong. <br/>
<br/>
He shook his head and pushed the money back, Jaskier's face furrowing in confusion as he watched. <br/>
<br/>
"I can't take your money." <br/>
<br/>
Eian paled, smacking his lips before giving a confused sigh. "Why not?" <br/>
<br/>
"I'd only be spending it back here- there's no reason for an exchange that's bound to happen in the future." <br/>
<br/>
Geralt straightened out his back, leaning an arm on the table. "We're planning to stay here- Jaskier and I. I'm not sure for how long," He turned towards his bard, jaw tight but a smile silently pulling at his lips, "But we've waited long enough to come to the coast. May as well enjoy the stay, too." <br/>
<br/>
Eian gave a hearty laugh before looking the two of them down, pulling one of the coin pouches back. <br/>
<br/>
"We'll put you on a tab then." <br/>
<br/>
---------<br/>
<br/>
"Stay?" <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier had waited until both Esmerelda and Eian disappeared into the back before speaking to Geralt. <br/>
<br/>
"Geralt, you're not joking are you? Please say no-" <br/>
<br/>
Geralt cocked an eyebrow, looking at the coins still on the table. "If I'd been kidding, they wouldn't have taken the tab." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier made a sound of excitement before throwing his hands around Geralt like an overjoyed child, and his face mushed into the matted mess of Geralt's hair. <br/>
<br/>
"Thank you- Oh, I've waited years to see the ocean during the summer. To feel the breeze-" <br/>
<br/>
The bard waxed poetic about the look of the beach for a while longer, comparing the whiteness of Geralt's hair to that of the softest sands. He engaged, chuckling as Jaskier's dramatics slowly quieted. Once the bard fell silent, he felt a hand grasp around his own. He looked down, then up to a flushed Jaskier. <br/>
<br/>
"If you thank me again, I'll have your meals replaced with boiled cabbage." <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier floundered before laughing, relaxing against the Witcher's side. His hair tickled Geralt's nose, and the pain of his chest throbbed quietly beneath his skin- but the heavy weight of the bard against him reminded him of how truly lucky he was to be around to enjoy it. <br/>
<br/>
<em>Yeah,</em> Geralt thought, <em>we're not leaving anytime soon.</em><br/>
<br/>
-------<br/>
<br/>
Seasoned changed, as did the weather. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
The little village didn't budge. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
The years passed, days ended.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
The little village didn't budge. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
Scenery changed, roads were paved. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
The little village didn't budge. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
Soon enough, a cottage was built. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
The village didn't budge. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
Children came, grew up and claimed what their parents left behind. Soon came a time when their own children played, running around chasing bugs. <br/>
<br/>
The breeze blew cold, the ocean stayed loud, the sun always set the same. <br/>
<br/>
Hand in hand, two men walked. <br/>
<br/>
The little village didn't budge. <br/>
<br/>
-------<br/>
<br/>
Love is never direct, it's never something you can pinpoint with an exact start and end. It's not precise, it's never exact, and it's never quite the same. Small gestures or grand, personal or not, love can be shown in many ways. <br/>
<br/>
A kiss, a smile, or a something a little more. <br/>
<br/>
-------<br/>
<br/>
Geralt sat by the fireplace, shoulders stiff from working the day away. Jaskier sat on the chair opposite of him, hands clasped around the neck of a lute- an old gift after they'd settled down. The instrument was made of chestnut, and the carvings were achingly similar to those of Filavandrel's, but they had a small twist. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier had gotten the craftsmen to write out a small note in elder runes, in between the elegant swirls and stalks, a small vow of protection. Something simple, meaningful to those who could read it. <br/>
<br/>
<em>'I will not leave, no wind will bow me, no man will break me from your side.' </em><br/>
<br/>
It was a gentle reminder, small, of what dangers had intertwined his life and Geralt's together. <br/>
<br/>
Life was funny, like that. Unfair, cruel sometimes, but it always seemed to end with the right intentions in mind. <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's eyes lifted from the strings beneath his fingers, and he caught the fond gaze his Witcher sent from across the room. <br/>
<br/>
Certainly. <br/>
<br/>
Life and love always found a way. <br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Thank You!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just a quick thank you to everyone who read this!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hey so the book is over!<br/><br/>Thank you all so much for reading this through, or following me from the very beginning- it means a lot to me, seeing the comments on each chapter, especially the feedback. <br/><br/>I would to see some comments on possible AU ideas, whumps, smut- anything that you guys would like to see! Seeing as I have so much free time on my hands, I'm more than happy to create an idea mush fic that updates each chapter with a different idea, or creating a few oneshots based off a few ideas all smushed together. <br/><br/>This is my very first time having a published work that is over 3,000 words in total, and I'm honestly surprised with how quickly I was able to pump this out. The completion of the book was from May 17th to the 21st, which is a lot of words to pump out in that small amount of time. <br/><br/>It was super fun to do, and I'm so glad that you enjoy reading my writing. I do have another work published, and if you enjoy God/Goddess AU's and immortality fluff, I'd suggest checking it out for some more Geralt/Jaskier action. <br/><br/>Again, thank you so much for the opportunity to write for this fanbase, and I'm super excited to keep up with the fics!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! Kudos would definitely be appreciated, especially after a writing hiatus like this. This isn't my first time writing Geralt and Jaskier, but it is my first work in the series to be properly published!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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